


A Toast to Twenty-Three

by JD_Riley



Series: Victorian A/B/O [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Developing Relationship, Dubious Consent, England (Country), First Time, Historical drama, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Verse, Omegaverse, Slow Burn, Smut, Victorian, historical fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-08 02:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 41,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10376160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JD_Riley/pseuds/JD_Riley
Summary: Bartholomew "Hollow" Hainsley has presented as an Omega at the relatively late age of twenty-three, leading his brother, the Earl of Westbrooke, to start looking to marry him off.  Painfully shy and set in his ways, Hollow wants nothing more than to stay at Westbrooke forever but as he certainly knows, the bulk of the soirees in London are about to begin and there is nothing he can say that will make his brother change his mind about finding him a proper suitor.  With at least one marriage proposal under his belt, he can't believe how unlucky he could possibly be to have drawn the gaze of the most formidable Alpha he's ever seen in his life, the rakishly handsome and devilishly mannered Duke of Asterly.





	1. Chapter 1

His toes were curling against the rug in the hallway while he listened outside the heavy door that led into his brother's room. It wasn't that he'd meant to eavesdrop, it was just that his brother's booming low voice was often difficult to ignore when one was passing on their way back to their own room after having slipped down to the kitchens to abscond with a late-night left-over scone. And when one's feet were small and one's steps were light, it was too easy to simply skim over the carpet and wolf down said commandeered scone while perking an ear toward the edge of the doorframe. He hadn't meant to overhear anything that concerned _himself_ and, as Bartholomew Hainsley slowly discovered, he hadn't _ever_ wanted to hear this particular conversation.

His brother's voice wasn't overly loud but as an Alpha, it was difficult not to distinguish. “Society knows he exists. He's been present at balls. I kept him from having a presentation ball because he asked to be spared from the embarrassment but if he keeps himself cloistered from the ton, they're going to start speculating and that's the last thing I need in the society papers. When my spinster brother is going to come out of hiding.”

 _Spinster?_ He was hardly a spinster, he thought, offended. He was but twenty-three.

His brother's mate, a lovely Beta by the name of Ophelia, responded with a light and placating tone. “Julian, he's not like you. He's sensitive, as many of them are. You shouldn't force him toward marriage if it doesn't suit him. The estate is big enough for him and he is protected here. Can you promise that of his eventual mate?”

Julian cursed under his breath and Hollow almost didn't hear it, it was so quiet. “I want him to be happy, my love. Like I am.” The obvious affection in his voice was like a blade in Hollow's stomach. As an Earl, he'd been quite the talk of the ton by marrying a girl who was a Beta—one that society didn't think he would ever find to be satisfying for his instinctual needs. The smaller pretty Omega ladies that collected at parties with feathers in their hair were awful towards Ophelia from the get-go, finding her attentions toward an Alpha like Julian unseemly and incorrigible. Nevertheless, they were desperately in love. A love that made Hollow only a little bit jealous.

Ophelia's soft voice was quiet and dear, “I know. But he has different needs. I will inquire among my friends and see if any of them have a suggestion or two, but as your brother hasn't made any distinction about what he prefers...” she trailed off.

Julian growled, obviously put-out over the prospect of having to find Hollow a mate. Match-making wasn't something he was keen about and the situation was putting him into a tizzy. “He has to find _someone_ , Opie. You saw him when it happened. I'd heard about it before. I'd read at Eton what happens but I didn't think it would happen to _him_. I didn't realize it would be so jarring. So unbearable to witness. He presented so late...I was _sure_ he was a Beta.”

Hollow felt the scone sitting in his belly like a rock. He didn't want to hear about this. He didn't even want to entertain the idea that his body's natural cycle could hurt his brother's sensibilities so badly that he would try to marry him off just to avoid witnessing it. Yes, he admitted to himself, it had been excruciating. He'd been tied down and tended to by the sweetest of the Omega maids who had come by to lay cold presses against his feverish flesh, knowing exactly what was to be done for an Omega who'd not yet been mated. Embarrassingly enough, he'd begged for relief, screaming toward the bed's hanging brocade for anyone who could help him. Fortunately enough, after it was over, he found himself closer to the maids who were more likely to allow him into their chittering circles.

Ophelia responded patiently, “It's not uncommon for men to present later. He will be very popular if he wishes to be, but Julian, please do not force him. He is so lovely and it would be a shame for him to be ruined because of this.”

 _Ruined!?_ He knew that to any unrelated Alpha, his scent could induce something the maids called a “rut.” It hadn't been anything he'd heard of before, and being formerly thought of as a Beta, nobody had bothered to tell him. Even Julian had never showed any signs of aggression, but the maids insisted that it was his lack of an Omega mate that was to blame for it. To think that such a gentleman like his brother could be bent into a mindless beast was unfathomable and to think that he, himself, could do such to an unassuming Alpha gentleman or lady was even more so. To be _ruined_ by such a thing was something else to fear entirely. That his virginity was at risk from merely coming into a heat at an unexpected moment—it was all too much.

He fled, walking briskly back to his room and feeling the weight of the scone he'd eaten inside him, squirming in his stomach. He put the candle down beside the bed and stood near the window, peering outside at the moon before he chanced a glance over his shoulder to the bed. The restraints were gone, removed by the staff after the symptoms of his need had abated. It was _his_ bed. He didn't want to sleep anywhere else. He didn't want to have to get married. He looked back at the moon, full and bright and shining over the little piece of England he called his home.

The Westbrooke Estate was a decent size and the surrounding lands were under Julian's control, held by Earl after Earl of Westbrooke. The farms were tended by the tenants and in turn they were cared for by his brother's easy-going direction. It was idyllic in every way and he didn't want to leave. He loved Julian and Ophelia and he'd never even thought about having to move away from the vast green rolling lawn, the lazy summer days spent with his feet up on the side of the little rowboat he used to fish in the pond, and the sight of the beautiful huge moon he'd always loved from the window right here. Right now.

With grasping fingers, he pulled his night robe tighter around his shoulders and tilted is head to press it against the glass, cooled by the outside air. He wasn't looking forward to the types of awkward conversations he was going to be subjected to if the two of them were actually serious about the permanent solution to the inevitability of their burden Omega's heats. He felt a tear escape his eye and he furiously swiped it away, remembering just how much he hated to cry. But the weight of his status as an Omega wasn't an individual hardship—it was something his own brother couldn't stand to carry, even as it rested on Hollow's shoulders.

Others didn't seem so bothered, but most of the men he'd met who were Omegas were easily married off as the mates of noblemen who'd come back from their tours as soldiers in skirmishes with the French. Almost all the female Omegas he'd stumbled into at balls were silly little chits who'd flirted with him carelessly despite their match-makers steering them away from the Betas and toward more suitable matches for their dynamic. As far as society knew—he was still a Beta. One that had been hiding from balls for a perfectly good reason—because he was often usually sequestered in the personal libraries of the host or hostess anyway and he was painfully shy. Betas were hardly ever those who were considered scandalous and thus were mostly out of the ton's gaze as far as gossip went. It was easier for him to slide out of a dance and into a good book without being noticed as a Beta and he was too short for most of the Beta women to be bothered with until their options had run slim among the other men.

But now? Ophelia had said he could be very... _popular._ Of course he would be. Because Omega women in the upper echelon were fairly common due to specific breeding principles and despite usually being sought after, plenty of Alphas were hunting for something else that got their blood pumping. Omega men were sought as a curiosity more than anything else and settled with soldiers because they were the easiest landed gentry to wed without much fanfare or courting rituals. Perhaps there was one that Julian knew of who had remained unwed?

 _No._ He shook his head. He didn't want a soldier. He wanted to _stay_ at Westbrooke. Hollow shuffled listlessly back to his bed and climbed under the counterpane and the sheets, snuggling into the coolness of them before he pulled his night robe from his body and tossed it on the floor by the side of the bed. Before his first heat, he'd always worn it under the bedclothes. Now, he couldn't stand the way it hampered his movement and he relished the feel of the linen on his naked body. The pillow pressed against his chest and belly comforted him while he covered it in his own distinct scent with his wrists and throat, cursing the way the freshly laundered linens didn't have any scent at all when they returned to his room every week.

When he awoke, he took breakfast in his room, unable to bring himself to face his brother should he be present in the dining room. After he'd polished off the poached eggs and fresh toasted bread that was brought up, he slipped out of his room and snuck down the servant stairwells until he could slip through the kitchens, dodging the curious staff and especially the butler, Yeatly, who could be quite nosy, and Hollow didn't mind saying so. With quick steps, he flitted through the dewy grass in his riding boots and outfit, readying his horse himself to take on a brisk morning canter around the grounds. The air would do him some good, bringing him back to the pace he'd been in before the unfortunate incident of his... _presentation_.

He guided Rhineholt, his rose gray gelding, with his thighs and calves mostly and eased him into a steady and tight trot, asking him to canter only when he noticed Ophelia's brilliantly royal blue muslin dress flash in the garden. The rolling green of the estate was muted by the commonly overcast sky but the smells of the warm spring were fresh in his nose along with the pleasant aroma of horse and the leather of his saddle. A couple small blue tits were chattering in the bushes and trees he passed as he rode onward, riding along the edge of the estate when he reached it, slowing Rhineholt to a walk and soaking in the English breeze.

Eventually, he decided not to go home, reaching the road as he made a wide berth around the manor, trotting off down the dirt and pebble lane toward the estate of his favorite distant cousin, only a few miles away from Westbrooke. A strapping and capable Beta, Edwin was larger than was typical for his dynamic and he was, as yet, single. While Alphas were preferred to transfer titles, Edwin had proven himself more than capable and he had the stated intention not to give up the title of Baron to any of his closer Alpha cousins. Considered attractive and eligible, he had no problem in finding Beta suitors and was highly sought-after for the taller Beta girls who found his height and manner just as attractive as any Alpha. Hollow liked him most because he was prudent and logical. He was also a very, very good keeper of secrets—of which Hollow thought he might have too many to hold by himself. Edwin was a good ear.

Giving his horse to the stable hand, he made his way to the front door and found it opened before he could even tap all the way up the stone steps to the manor, the kind face of Edwin's butler, Orwell, greeting him with a broad smile.

“It is wonderful to see you again, Bartholomew.”

“You as well, old friend,” he replied in earnest, pulling his riding gloves off by the fingers. Orwell offered to take them along with his riding jacket and he allowed it while the butler informed him of his cousin's whereabouts in the study.

As the friendly old man helped him slide his jacket off, he politely murmured, “Perhaps, Bartholomew, it may be prudent for me to stand aside the door?”

He chuckled. “Fear not for my virtue, Orwell. I'm perfectly safe from my cousin.”

“Of course.”

As he made his way toward Edwin's study, he was unsure of how much he would come to hate the way that his new status would make everyone around him so damned different. Although he was ever more popular with the young maids, he was naturally regarded with guardedness and protectiveness from every other servant, to say nothing of how he imagined the other gentry would think of him.

At his appearance in the doorway, Edwin put his feet down off the top of the exquisite hard wood desk in the study, setting down his book and standing immediately. “Hollow, by god,” his smile was ear-to-ear and his voice was light. His massive frame approached and he picked up his favorite tiny cousin and swung him around before immediately putting him down and taking a startled step back. “Oh.”

Hollow laughed and straightened his waistcoat, pulling on his shirt sleeves with blood starting to fill his cheeks. “Oh, yes. I um...I didn't know how to tell you.”

“ _That's_ why I haven't seen you.” Edwin's eyes softened. “You know you could have told me, Hollow. I would never have judged you.”

“Consider this my telling you. Outside of Westbrooke, you're the only one who does know.”

Edwin nodded, leading him to one of the overstuffed arm chairs that were set near the fireplace. “I would have thought that Julian would have wanted to present you; was that not something that was in your interest?”

“I told him not to. I couldn't bear the idea of being paraded in front of a bunch of Alphas who tried to get me to dance just to...” He leaned forward, whispering as if it were some kind of dirty word. “ _Scen_ _t_ me.”

Edwin burst out in a set of hearty chuckles. “So do you plan on staying in Westbrooke for the season? This would be your first as...well...as you. It would be advantageous for you to present yourself this year, as old as you already are.”

“Edwin, are you listening to me? I _can't_ show my face at any society get-together ever again. They'll be all over me like a pack of ravenous dogs. I've got no expertise in fighting off amorous advances, what am I to do?”

His cousin sighed, his green eyes flashing with the flicker of the fire in the hearth. “So you plan to be alone your whole life? To stay at Westbrooke? Do you not think Julian will force you to marry?”

“Please help me convince him not to let them have me, Edwin,” he pleaded. His cousin had to help him, there was no other option for him. Julian, proud that he was, would never let his little Omega brother call any shots and he would have to have someone equally as stubborn on his side.

“I can't force your brother's hand, Hollow. But if he insists on marriage, I can provide an alternative that would be advantageous for both of us.”

He peered into his cousin's eyes with an inquisitive stare, the slight tilt of his head an invitation for Edwin to explain.

“I will marry you.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Edwin's suggestion was still ringing in his ears as he drew Rhineholt into a hard canter. The logic of it had been solid, his cousin noting that, as a Beta, he would never instinctively force himself on Hollow at any point, never becoming violent in his need for sexual satisfaction. His responses were always measured, kind, and he was already the man that Hollow trusted more than anyone else in his life. Eventually, he would be Lord Belcourt and would reign over the estate, claiming not only the title but also the peerage. As his husband, he would be given a courtesy title and treated with the same respect. It was a terribly _good_ solution that afforded him much stability.

_So why had he said no?_

His cousin had left the door open for him to change his mind and even as he was swinging his leg over the saddle, he was rethinking the option. He rolled it over in his head the entire way back to Westbrooke and completely forgot to avoid his brother as he strode down the hall toward the kitchens to snag a light lunch.

Julian was gentle when he stopped Hollow in the hallway, seeming to note the scent of his supreme anxiety. “Good afternoon, Hollow. Did you have a pleasant ride? Ophelia mentioned that the breeze was quite brisk.”

He nearly flattened himself against the wall. “It is, quite.”

“On your way for lunch?” Julian asked, noting the direction he was headed. “If you will, Lady Westbrooke and I would request your presence for a picnic on the terrace.”

It was _not_ a request, by any means, and it made Hollow's heart drop straight into his bowels, swimming there and flopping around like a fish that's been pulled straight from the pond and into the boat. He bowed his head in submission and replied softly, “As you wish, my Lord.”

Instead of heading to the kitchen, he waited until he was sure Julian had gone far enough away from him and then headed up to his room to change. When he was in a fresh set of clothes, he made his way down to the french doors and found Ophelia, Lady Westbrooke, nipping at a plate of fruits where it sat between her and Julian, her skirts pooling gracefully over the stone steps of the terrace that oversaw the beautiful English garden. The Lord and Lady of the manor were regal together even as they sat rather informally on the ground, their gloved fingers brushing as they leaned over a few manners of refreshments. From what he could tell, Julian was whispering to her sweet nothings and she was tolerating him with little fanfare while her high cheekbones tinged with pink. Hollow rolled his eyes and made sure his boots made enough noise on the stone terrace to rouse them from their embarrassing affection.

“Hollow,” his brother greeted with a soft expression. Such a greeting was more common now. “Please, sit down.”

He did after making a slight bow to Ophelia, sitting with his legs out to the side on the checked linen that was laid out to protect the Countess's skirts. His stomach growled impertinently and he reached out to swipe a ripe plum.

“I understand that this is often a difficult conversation to have,” he started off lightly, “but I implore you to consider your options. The Countess and I will be traveling to London for the remainder of the season and will be taking residence at the London house. I wish to convey my insistence that you join us so that you may begin the process of procuring a...” Julian paused for a second, considering his next word carefully. “A mate.”

He felt a fire burning in his blood while his fingers bruised the delicate skin of the plum in his hand.

“It is my understanding that our aunt, Lady Raynes will also be present in town for the season and if you wish, I will write to her to request that she act as your chaperone.”

“I don't _need_ a chaperone.” He was glaring at his brother, his words coming out in a hiss.

Julian didn't appear surprised at his vehemence but also didn't look him in the eyes, preferring to stare downward instead, toward the fruits, giving a small sigh. As an Alpha, he had the unique ability to use a tone that would often force an Omega's obedience and strongly sway the attitude of a Beta but he chose not to use it, instead keeping the light but formal manner. “I understand your reluctance, Hollow, but seeing as you are currently of a marriageable age and are not otherwise unengaged, there is no reason for you to hold back from finding a proper suitor.”

He felt his face grow hot. “I don't want a suitor.”

Julian's jaw set. “Unfortunately, brother, that decision is not yours to make. If you do not wish for our aunt to be your chaperone, Lady Westbrooke has very kindly offered to escort you. That is the only decision that had been put at your feet and I suggest you make your choice and do so politely.”

He smoothed his brow as best he could and turned his eyes to Ophelia, giving her a soft nod to serve as a bow. “I would be honored if my Lady would accompany me during the season.” If he had to be miserably paraded about town for months at a time, he at least could draw the Countess to his cause and keep her from her duties as Julian's wife. It must have been Ophelia's idea, he thought, as she had known that it was only through her comfort that he would ever survive a season, especially his first as the ever-coveted Omega.

“An adequate solution,” Julian quipped. “I shall inform the staff of your condition and they will ready the room to accommodate your...” He breathed in and then out. “ _Particular_ needs.”

“Julian.”

His brother's eyes snapped upward in a bewildered stare as he was unused to Hollow calling him by his given name.

Hollow spoke evenly. “I ask that you please refrain from talking about me as if I am sick. I am not fragile, I am not infirm, and I will not tolerate it. I beg of you, please consider my feelings.”

The Countess lifted her fan, opening it and fluttering it into her eyes while turning away, clearly making the attempt to hide her tears. It would not be difficult to persuade her to make Julian change his mind and in that small action, he was given hope that perhaps he may come back to Westbrooke before the season had ended and be allowed to stay unwed and safe.

Julian softened his expression. “I understand. I apologize. Much of this is as new to me as it is to you. Please suffer me, Hollow. It is but a season.”

“The first of many,” he muttered, sinking his teeth into his now-bruised plum.

When he was permitted to leave, he found himself sitting in the library with the book he'd wanted to read laying on his lap, forgotten while he stared unseeing out the large windows on the western face of the manor. In this room, he had found his passion for reading grow, his knowledge expanding with every book he could check off as having been studied. But now? He couldn't keep his eyes on a page. Ever since that horrible night when he'd become overcome by the fever that had stripped him of his relative independence, he couldn't take his mind off of the uncertainty of his future.

Edwin had proposed a model solution and with his rejection had informed him that he would be attending the season this year. He had told Hollow that he intended on remaining unengaged this season for the sole purpose of waiting in the wings in case he did happen to change his mind about marriage. After all, he'd said, Hollow _was_ his favorite cousin and he would be damned before he would see him in a miserable, loveless marriage. Despite his status as Beta, he was certain of his ability to be a doting and loving husband, his sincerity clear in his fond gaze.

Hollow closed his eyes and covered them with his hands. He didn't deserve such a cousin. He didn't deserve such a _husband_. But in all this time, the only person who'd even come close to understanding his true feelings had been the Countess and even then, she could only voice her opinion when she and Julian were alone in their bedchamber, all of their pomp and regal posturing set aside. Edwin was of the mind that there was nothing to be done and one just had to grit their teeth and bare it. At least Ophelia, mold-breaker and incorrigible Alpha-stealer, had recognized that at such an age, he was less likely to mold into the model of what an Omega was supposed to be. By all rights—he could have had pups by now.

His stomach churned when he thought about all of the Alphas that were going to be mingling about in stuffy drawing rooms. The Omega ladies with the feathers in their hair and their pastel-colored dresses would twitter about and probably avoid him so they might have a better chance of catching an Alpha's eye. Betas would no longer have time for him, and he would most likely be pursued by every widower in London. The whole scene he'd created in his head was straight out of one of his worst nightmares and he shuddered to think how close to reality it might come to be. Ball rooms where he can't politely extract himself from conversations, all those mingling Alpha scents battling for dominance in one place, too many Omegas standing together making a sickly sweet perfume, and nearly every Beta hiding in the billiard room or at the poker tables.

A soft and lilting voice met him and he took his hands from his eyes, standing up before he'd remembered the book in his lap. It thunked onto the floor while he bowed formally to the Countess. “My Lady,” he squeaked, “Forgive me, I did not hear you enter.”

She gave a little chuckle before she approached and leaned over to pick up his book, handing it to him. “Nothing to forgive,” she told him. When she had sat herself down on the chaise lounge near to his chair, he sat again, holding his book closed with tight fingers. Her back was straight and her hands in her lap, her billowing beautiful skirts, she arranged just so as she sat. When she spoke, her voice brought to his mind a drifting sea of lavender. “I can imagine this is all very upsetting,” she sighed, her delicate brows furrowing. “After all, we ladies are brought up to assume that we will eventually fall into matrimony naturally. Boys have no such expectation. But, if you will permit me to ask, Hollow, there are some details that could make it more likely that I could help you this season.”

He took in a deep breath. “You want me to tell you...what I would like in a suitor.”

She smiled but it was strained.

“My Lady, you don't have to help me find a mate. I'm of the mind that eventually, Julian will learn that I am much better off without one and would have been better off never having tried to get one. Asking you to play match-maker for me would be useless as I don't intend to marry.”

She nodded, the glinting blonde curls left purposefully out of her coiffure bobbing. “I see. You intend to prove to him somehow that your staying at Westbrooke is a more beneficial decision?”

“The true question is how to do so.” He sighed. “If I find myself in a similar predicament as before at the house in town, which is more than probable, he'll just double his efforts to find someone to wed me.” He leaned forward and steepled his fingers while his elbows rested on his knees. “My cousin, Penberth, has graciously supplied me with another option.”

“Oh?”

“He has suggested that he will marry me if everything were to go poorly.”

She smiled, clapping her hands together and bringing them to her mouth. “Oh, that's _brilliant_ of him. Absolutely wonderful. He's to be Belcourt, I understand. You'd be a Baron; that would be lovely. You must consider him. Will he be in town this season?”

He wanted to die. Instead of answering her, he let his eyes slip to the floor and thought about all the ways he might unfortunately live if he managed to throw his wretched body off the top of the manor house.

“Hollow?”

He heaved a sigh. “I apologize, my Lady. It's just that...I don't want to marry _anybody._ ”

Her expression was apologetic. “Once we are in London and you've been to a few balls, we can chat about this again. Penberth will likely be there and if you feel overwhelmed, perhaps you will reconsider his offer for you. It's one sure way to get out of a season and the end result most seek. Give them a chance to at least catch a _whiff_ of you,” she smiled. “Then they'll at least know what they missed.”

It was that that finally forced a little ghost of a grin to his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it REALLY gonna be THAT bad?
> 
> Probably worse.


	3. Chapter 3

His favorite way to hear his own name was when it came in brisk pants and salient moans from reddened kissable lips while he was doing his due diligence in assisting widows out of mourning with their insatiable lusts.

“Morgan. Morgan! _Morgan!_ ”

Widows finally out of their mourning had been celibate for two years at the most and many of them were absolutely desperate to find someone to assist them with their still-prevalent heats. After having gone without for so long, it was too easy to keep track of which fine ladies may have been in need. Not only by paying attention to the society papers, he found them simply by keeping a sharp eye for those glassy stares that marked a woman who'd gone much too long without the satisfaction of an Alpha's knot.

“My god, _Morgan._ ”

By far his favorite, Countess Turnwell had been widowed for three years at just thirty-two, the Earl a victim of a tragic carriage accident that had left her with two pups and no one to sate her ever-growing thirst for an Alpha's touch. When she had finally made her re-entry into society, all it had taken was a carefully placed affectionate brush and she had practically exploded like a powder keg in his arms, ravenously kissing him in the garden at Lanchester's charity ball. Three years later and—

“Devil take you, Morgan. I _want_ it. _Please_ give it to me. I _have_ to have it.”

He pushed forward and eased her hips up to give her what she wanted, pulling air through his gritted teeth as she cried out and clenched around him, her body shaking and shivering while she stared up at him, her formerly immaculate brunette tresses of hair tumbled out of its pins, splayed out over his dark silk sheets and pillow cases. Trapped inside her, he bucked his hips in shallow motions until he had to lean over her, his large hands on either side of her throat while he rutted her into the bed, growling and panting until he found his release.

“Oh,” she smiled. “Oh yes. That's what I want.” She reached her hand up and her palm found his jaw, her fingers gently playing over his ear. “That's my Morgan.”

He didn't mind letting her have the fantasy. For Alphas, it wasn't uncommon to be able to marry again after the death of a spouse and even for Betas it was fairly easy. But a bonded Omega who'd lost their mate was not considered marriage material, save for perhaps a widowed Alpha. As Morgan had never yet been married, and didn't intend to be, letting her have the fantasy of it was the least he could do to help her. When she wasn't consumed by a heat, she was a very logical and intelligent woman with a cutting wit and a surprising amount of sass for an Omega. He knew she loved him.

At first, the notion had sparked the thrill of danger—that he was toying with things that ought not be toyed with. Now, it seemed only natural that she be in love with him for as long as he had been assisting her through London seasons, even sometimes waking in the middle of the night at his country estate to find that his valet, Bickett, had been overcome by her will to see him. As yet, he had never turned her away from his bed and there was no reason for her to assume that he would in the future. That was, unless he was stolen by some chit Omega who had marriage on her mind.

There were only so many ways that mamas had conspired to trap him into marriage but playing the game with him brought with it certain risks he was sure they'd foreseen. He was known too well as man who was keen to steal kisses and didn't mind being called a rake for it. What else might a little virgin risk in the garden?

A careless whisper drifted from underneath him. “Kiss me, Morgan.”

He complied, easing down and turning her so that her leg was cast over his hip, their bodies still locked tightly together. Her lips were swollen from previous kisses, plush and sweet while he showered them with attention.

She mumbled against his mouth while she fought to stay awake. “Stay with me until I wake, please?”

A low rumbling chuckle escaped him and he whispered back to her. “I have a meeting with Marksdown and Hayworth in two hours, sweeting.

Her expression was pained and her voice pleading. “I need you here, my love. They don't need you like I need you.”

“I should hope not,” he laughed. “How am I ever going to get through Lady Hayworth's ball on Friday with you still abed like this? You are simply going to have to pull yourself together, Meredith.”

“Mmm,” she protested. “Do not go. Stay with me. Kiss me everywhere.” She cracked her eyes and gave him a licentious grin. “ _Everywhere._ ”

“I'll kiss you in the garden at the Hayworth ball.”

She moaned, frustrated. “You know what I meant, you awful man.”

He kissed her brow and assured her that he did, staying with her until she fell into a deep sleep while he petted her hair. When she was safely in slumber, he slipped out of her and out of the bed, dressing himself and running a hand through his unruly hair before he exited the room and allowed Bickett to fidget with his cravat.

“Make sure she makes it home safely, Bickett. Take the carriage. And have them wash the sheets, if you would.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“Thank you.” Bickett didn't bat a lash at the formality, used to it by now. Although the position of valet was normally considered an ignoble pursuit for a man, the Beta had taken to it like a duck to water when he'd fallen on hard times and had put himself at the mercy of the ton by asking his cousin to help him find work. Skeptical at first to hire a man with no experience in the profession, Morgan had never regretted his decision to take him on, finding him exemplary in every facet. He'd been Morgan's valet for six years as yet and he hoped Bickett would stay for many more as it was tiresome to feel out a new valet for faults.

A natural at the changing tides, his meeting with Hayworth and and Marksdown was merely a formality to discuss trade and shipping measures that would make their operations run more smoothly. Kindred spirits, the three of them were not the types to sit back and watch as the world moved on without them. Considered distasteful for some, he found the work invigorating, bolstering his estate and providing plenty of wealth for future generations—whenever those were to come about.

In truth, he fully expected the estate to transfer to his nearest Alpha cousin, a young thing who'd just presented, being merely eighteen. Hopefully, he thought wryly, the boy would do a bit of maturing before Morgan met his eventual demise and the title was transferred to him. Perhaps when he was older, he would take more of an interest in his studies and less of an interest in the flitting pastel skirts and alluring scents of the feathered flocks of Omegas in Hyde Park. Not that he was in much of a position to lecture. His cousin, skirt-chaser that he was turning out to be, was more than likely going to inherit if he didn't manage to find a mate that suited him. He doubted it would happen, the notion often putting a hollow pit in his stomach.

When his meeting was over, he returned to the house to find that Bickett had done well in getting Meredith home safely. Her heat was winding down and it was less imperative for him to be around when she needed him. He wouldn't be surprised if this was the last he saw of her until the next time the fever descended upon her. Resigned to a quiet night, he shuffled through the hall to the drawing room, pouring himself some sherry and sitting in front of the fire to ward off the slight chill that had settled in as the sun had started to set.

Bickett appeared beside him and set down a plate of those small cucumber sandwiches he was obsessed with. His cook, a French master, had never developed an understanding for what it was about the finger sandwiches that Morgan loved so much but he was a good sport enough to make them as a snack whenever Bickett asked for them.

“Bickett?” he asked before his valet could retreat.

“Your Grace?”

He sat back against the wing of the chair, letting his legs spread while he sipped his sherry. “Do you think, perchance, one day I'll find a mate?”

“If you will permit me...”

He peered around the wing of the chair and narrowed his eyes. “Bickett.”

His valet paused and then glanced over his shoulder to make sure there were no other servants about before he grinned with one side of his mouth and clasped his gloved hands in front of himself. “If they are in England, Your Grace, you will find them. Perhaps you are a trifle captious in your search.”

Morgan raised a brow with his eyes still narrowed on his valet. “Perhaps I _permit_ you too much.”

Bickett chuckled, “I apologize, Your Grace.”

He turned back toward the fire. “I will put myself to bed. Good night, Bickett.”

His valet retreated and disappeared quickly and silently into the house as if he were merely a shadow that could peel from the wall at any moment.

_If they are in England, Your Grace, you will find them._

He wished he could be as certain in his own ability to sort the wheat from the chaff. Perhaps his valet had been right when he'd accused him of being overcritical of each season's selections. It was just that many of them were so _young_ and Lord help him, he wasn't about to dance with a slip of a girl who hadn't even grown into her form yet and decide she was bondmate material. Many of them, by the time they were to their first season were overly-giddy to find an Alpha who, they were told, would help them through their harrowing heats. They allowed men to scent them, stealing away into the garden or dark corners to raise their pretty throats to any Alpha they found remotely attractive just for the fantasy that they would never have to endure that specific and hideous pain ever again. The girls who had been around for a few seasons were usually plain of face at the very least or had atrocious manners at the very worst. Some of them had bucked the convention of marriage at first, but a year or so of solitary heats had a tendency to mellow out those of the girls who had claimed marriage a sham.

He drained his glass of sherry and got up to pour himself another. When he sat down again, he rubbed at his eyes. When he was a boy, he'd been so naïve to believe that when he'd found the Omega he was to marry, he would know by scent alone. He thought the aroma would be enough for him to know immediately who he was going to wed. They had all smelled _diff_ _erent_ but it wasn't enough. He'd thought that, perhaps, there would be one that lingered in his memory, that he couldn't forget, that he would wake up in the middle of the night and pine for. He'd slipped off and scented so many of them, pressing his nose intimately against their throats when they recklessly allowed it. If they seemed willing enough, he'd even steal a kiss or two while he could just for the sport of it. He'd thought that one of them would draw him in and keep him forever.

But here he was. Five and thirty and it had never happened. It had been no more than a boyish fantasy and a foolish one at that.

He gulped at his sherry and wished he'd filled it to the brim when it was gone yet again. He stared at the glass in his fingers, empty, and felt very much like he mirrored it. Pressing the cool glass on his forehead, he closed his eyes and sighed.

_If you are in England. By God. I will find you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, everyone. He's certainly no Mr. Darcy.


	4. Chapter 4

The carriage ride to London was long and Hollow positively abhorred it. If it had been feasible, he would have preferred walking to being jostled about inside the carriage with his brother's Alpha pheromones stinking up the tight space, practically smoking him out. The Countess didn't seem to mind in the slightest and of _course_ Julian was oblivious to how strong his scent could be and how it was going to _stick_ to absolutely everything.

When they made it to the London house, he changed his clothes immediately, eager to get his brother's scent off of him as much as he could. There would still be some of it, trapped in his hair and lingering over his skin, but at least it wouldn't choke anyone when he wandered past them. As much as he didn't like the way his own scent made people react to him, having his brother's scent masking his was almost worse. He was just in the middle of trying to make sense of his hair when his door opened and a pretty maid entered. She bobbed him a simple curtsy.

“Mr. Hainsley, it is delightful to meet you. I am Miss Calloway.”

He turned to face her and gave a slight bow. “Good afternoon, Miss Calloway.”

She was slim, her eyes an inky black and her hair an odd deep shade of red. If only she had been a debutante, he thought. She would have been snatched up immediately with that luscious hair and, he sniffed the air discreetly, her sweet Omega scent. Her cheeks were slightly pinkish.

“My duties are that of a ladies maid, if you would prefer a valet instead, I am certain it could be arranged.”

He put his hands up in front of him. “Oh. Oh no. If that is alright, of course, I did not bring one and...” He scratched the back of his neck. “I am certainly out of my element. Perhaps a ladies maid is better for me. That is...if you don't mind.”

She smiled. “That is settled then. Thank you, Mr. Hainsley.”

After she had left, he looked back at himself in the mirror and gave a few swallows, finding himself wringing his hands together. He'd never needed a valet or a ladies maid before, having made due perfectly fine without one. But here, he was expected to look... _beautiful?_ He shuddered.

Dinner was enjoyable if only for the food as Julian didn't speak to him, fully engrossed by some pieces of news. Ophelia didn't have her nose in a paper but didn't speak to him either other than to compliment him on how dapper he looked and to comment on how tiresome she'd thought the journey was. He retired to the drawing room afterward and poured himself a glass of bourbon while Ophelia played the piano forte. He amused himself by leaning on the top of the piano and watching her fingers move over the keys while she played a light and engaging tune. She eyed his glass of bourbon and spoke over her playing.

“Most Omegas prefer wine or sherry.”

“Is that a hint, my Lady?”

She smiled wickedly. “You wouldn't want the Alphas to think you were some kind of deviant, would you?”

He sipped from his glass. “The gentleman who would marry me should not be tricked into doing so thinking that his bourbon won't slowly disappear from the decanter.”

She laughed but continued playing, never missing a key. “We have procured an invitation to Lady Hayworth's home on Friday for a ball.” This was where she drifted off the piano and the music stopped. “There are a few dress-makers downtown who would be able to make you something more fitting toward your dynamic.”

He gritted his teeth but tried to keep his expression passive. “I appreciate the sentiment but I look perfectly acceptable in black.”

She straightened her back a little more. “It is customary for Omegas to wear something a little more eye-catching than the typical black associated with Alphas or Betas. It would be only natural for you to...” She sighed through her nose.

“Wear feathers and pastel?” he scoffed. “Absolutely not. That's downright degrading. If you will not allow me to wear black, I simply will refuse to accompany you. Besides,” he sniffed, “they won't need a bright color to be able to pick me out. I can't wait until this entire season is over so I can occupy my time with more important pursuits.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fishing and riding?”

“Precisely. Oh,” he grinned, “and reading.”

Ophelia chuckled. “What a difficult life you have, Hollow. Consider, perhaps, that you could have all of that without having to be ill every few weeks.”

“I would still be _ill_ , my Lady. And just as inconvenienced.”

“This is about your convenience?”

He gulped at his bourbon. “Of course. What else could it be about?”

Julian's strong voice floated across the room. “What else could what be about?”

He turned quickly and his throat closed.

Ophelia replied warmly with that beautiful lilt she sometimes had. “Oh dear. It seems that someone was eavesdropping. I believe, my Lord, you'll be duly punished later for such a heinous crime.” She paused while Julian poured himself a drink. “Hollow has decided to wear black for the season.”

“He looks quite handsome in black, I should say,” his brother replied, setting down the decanter.

“And he's drinking bourbon,” she tattled. Hollow shot her a frown.

Julian appeared unmoved. “He likes bourbon.”

“That's right,” Hollow smiled, “I like bourbon.”

“It would be unreasonable to expect him to be any other way.” His brother came forward to join them at the piano. “As much as it would please the traditionalists, it's useless to mold him into the perfect ideal for a male Omega. He's twenty-three. He already knows what he likes. Propriety is to the dogs by now.”

Ophelia huffed. “That is _not_ a useful perspective.”

Julian frowned, “For God's sake, Opie, let the poor boy wear black.”

Hollow felt like he'd won something despite the fact that his brother had been the one making all the scores while he stood by and watched. At least there were some things that he could count on from the Earl. As much as Julian was keen to find him a suitor, he was not keen on seeing his little brother as any different than he'd been before. It was understandable, Hollow thought, that he would feel that way considering how difficult the experience had already been for him. He wanted almost to reach out to his brother. To thank him. But then he remembered that he was only here because Julian insisted upon it. He finished his bourbon and wandered off toward the fireplace, holding the empty glass by his side, his fingers on the rim.

The Earl's voice was soft, like it always was, and filled with authority, as it _always_ was.

“It's not going to be so bad, Hollow. In fact, I think when you get around to the dancing, you'll like most of the attention. You'll be in your own clothes and you can take it at your own pace.”

“And what if my own pace is never?”

“You don't have to find a husband this season.”

He looked up at his brother, his eyes wide.

“But I will not allow you to slip away and play least in sight. You're going to look at your options and consider them closely. I will be judging your prospects just as harshly as you will be. Perhaps more so. If a suitor makes you uncomfortable or you find them distasteful in any way, I will be your closest ally.” Julian approached him. “I love you, Hollow. You're my only brother. I want to help you. You _must_ discover what it means to be what you are and rise to the occasion.”

He looked back toward the fire and shifted his weight. “You won't let them...scent me...will you?”

Julian let out a small chuckle. “If a gentleman attempts to lead you away to scent you, Hollow, I expect you to break his nose. Society papers be damned. Perhaps if the nosy little chits who write those papers manage to publish it, the others will think better than to do so in the future.”

Ophelia gave a ladylike sniff at the idea from the piano.

The squirming that had occupied his belly since they'd left Westbrooke seemed to calm with his brother's words and he nodded slightly while he stared down into the flames. It was possibly easier said than done but he felt steeled by the prospect that he would not be in trouble for having defended himself against the wandering hands and noses of larger, stronger Alphas who thought themselves the epitome of regal charm. It was hardly that they would lose any invitations. In fact, in that case, they might actually procure _more_ of them for the simple fascination of a male Omega who was playing coy. Alphas, supremely competitive, were forever trying to succeed where others had failed.

* * *

The relative calm that came from hearing Julian admit that he didn't have to find a mate this season was also relatively short-lived, lasting only until Friday evening before he was supposed to depart for Lady Hayworth's ball. Miss Calloway was standing in front of him with the tip of her tongue just barely poking out of the side of her mouth while she tied his cravat, delicately tucking it where it needed to be and making sure it wasn't flat or wrinkled anywhere it shouldn't have been. When she was done, she stepped back and looked at him with her hands clasped under her chin.

“Quite handsome,” she said, nodding. “This is the quickest I think I've ever gotten someone ready for a ball. You've got no lace, Mr. Hainsley. And I haven't a thing to do with your hair.”

He ran one hand back through it. “I'm afraid there's nothing for the cowlick anyway, Miss Calloway. At least, nothing I'd bother to try.” He laughed nervously, sitting down on the chair in front of the mirror to keep his knees from knocking together. “Might there be something to do for my nerves?”

“A spot of sherry may be the thing.”

He laughed but it was awkward so he stifled it.

“Care not to get yourself too worked up, Mr. Hainsley. You wouldn't want to bring on a stress heat.”

Hollow straightened suddenly, his heart pounding. “A _what_?”

She seemed startled. “Oh. I apologize. I had forgotten you had only just presented. If you were to get quite agitated, it is possible to bring about a heat. They are brief, just a day or so, but they are mighty. If you carry on this way, Mr. Hainsley, I will be fair up all night keeping you cool.”

He took a few deep breaths but his hands still shook in his lap. “I see.” He nodded. “I will do my best. Although, I can make no promises.”

She took a few steps but stood far enough away not to loom over him. “If I am permitted, Mr. Hainsley?”

“What? Oh. Yes, yes.”

She sat on her feet next to the chair and looked up at him with those inky black eyes. “You've no cause for fear, Mr. Hainsley. You hold all the power in the room. They will follow you, wagging their tails if they want you. They will ignore you if they do not. All you must do is smile, be polite, and firm if need requires. Do not be pulled to the side of the room. Do not be pulled to the garden. And...” she gave him a knowing stare. “Do not be cornered in the library.”

“Solid advice,” he admitted.

He was still muttering all of it to himself over and over when the carriage pulled up to the door of the manor house and the groomsman opened the carriage door. Julian practically had to pry him off his seat and yank him out into the spring breeze while the sun set in the west. Torches lined the drive and the air was full of scents as ladies and gentlemen filed into the house's front hall in order to be received by the hostess at the entrance to the ballroom. Hollow found himself practically glued to Julian, reflecting that he probably should have had his arm linked to Ophelia instead, as she was his chaperone. Whatever he was supposed to be doing, Julian didn't seem to notice nor mind that his little brother was practically inside his overcoat.

He'd met Lady Hayworth once before but it would have been much to expect her to remember him so when it was their turn to be received, the Earl and Countess of Westbrooke were announced first along with the tag-along little brother. Already divested of his hat and jacket, he felt naked when he made a deferential bow to the host and hostess, his heart beating so hard he thought he could hear it in his ears.

“Lady Hayworth,” he managed to squeak. She was perhaps twenty years his senior and she was stunningly beautiful. Short, like many Omegas, her hair was a luscious brunette, shining under the candlelight in the hall and pinned up with pearls and shimmering rubies. Her gown was a deep burgundy with a swooped neck. Coupled with her hair, she was able to not only show off her ample bosom but also the prominent bondmark on her neck that marked her as the wife of an Alpha. Her hazel eyes were sharp when she greeted him.

“Mr. Hainsley,” she beamed. “It is wonderful to have you back in town this year, I was doubtful I would see you but...” Her brows quirked together and she trailed off. “Oh, my love.” She pleadingly held out her hands and he almost couldn't lift his arm to give her one of his. When she had it, she looked down at it and then up at him. “May I?”

As much as he thought he would have bristled if someone were to ask him such a question, it seemed only natural from Lady Hayworth. “Of course, my Lady.”

She turned his hand lifted the thin skin of his slight wrist to her nose, careful to hold it far enough away that she did not touch, cradling his gloved hand in both of hers as if holding the most precious of jewels. “Oh, my love. You are going to give the girls fits. They'll never land a gent with you strutting around.” She smiled conspiratorially. “You are simply _divine_.”

When she had released his hand, he gave a small bow again. “Thank you, my Lady.”

Released from the encounter, he practically tripped over his own feet when he reached Ophelia who had stood aside to wait for him, Julian having already made his way to the room where the men were gathering to play cards. The two of them were arm in arm when they strode into the ballroom together and Hollow tried to look at the floor, focusing on Ophelia's lavender skirts as they swished over the marble so as to not notice anyone's attentions being drawn his way. The dance floor overlooked by a dual set of stairs that deposited party-goers on either the left or the right side. Lady Westbrooke led him to the right, guiding him with her gentle arm down the stairs toward the dance floor. When they were to the ground, she kept him moving forward and leaned over, whispering in his ear that she would like to be his first dance.

He would like that, he thought. It would save him from all of _this_. He inadvertently glanced upward as the scent of a particularly strong Alpha wafted past his nose. There were eyes on him. He'd been leaving a trail of sweetness behind him a mile wide.

“Ignore them,” the Countess murmured. “Do not look any of them in the eyes. Keep your attention on me.” She made him look at her. “Dance with me.” She drew him onto the floor as another set started and kept him occupied, allowing him to lead her as she whirled around him. She spoke to him as they moved together easily. “I thought you spent all of your time in the library when you came to parties.”

“Mostly.”

“You're a better dancer than Julian.”

He grinned as he helped her through a few odd steps. “You'd be surprised what you can read in a book.”

She laughed, tilting her head back. With that bubbling attitude and an easy laugh, she brought him past his initial anxiety through the exertion of his first dance. When it was over, she took his hand in hers and led him off the floor toward the punch bowl. As they walked, she leaned toward him again. “Be careful Hollow. We've spread your scent everywhere. Most of your competition is off in the southeast corner and you've got something they don't.”

“Yes,” he whispered back, “It's called a—”

A low, prominent voice startled him insomuch as to actually jolt. He and Ophelia were stopped short by a large green-eyed Alpha who was holding a small glass of punch by the bottom, presenting it to Hollow as if it were a gift. “You dance beautifully.”

Hollow's mouth was hanging partially open while he stared at the glass. Realizing this, he closed it and gulped. “Courteous of you,” he managed, “Lady Westbrooke? Something for your thirst?”

She rescued him deftly, lifting the glass from the perplexed Alpha's fingers and thanking him with an incredible amount of grace. “So thoughtful of you, Lord Kentworth. I was simply parched. Mr. Hainsley was just about to procure me some punch.” She wasn't about to take mercy on him, despite the rescue. “Have you met Mr. Hainsley?”

Hecleared his throat, clasping his hands behind his back. “I haven't been bestowed the honor, Lady Westbrooke.”

“Ah.” Ophelia gave him a once-over and Hollow could have nearly choked from how much the poor man seemed to be squirming under her scrutiny. “Mr. Hainsley, this is Viscount Kentworth. He and Lord Westbrooke have gone hunting together.”

He did his absolute best not to look too pained as he interacted and as he noted that the cluster of men waiting to talk to him was steadily growing, their scents mingling into a bit of a cloud. He hadn't thought he would ever want to spend one second more with Lord Kentworth but when the man asked him to dance, he immediately acquiesced if only to be pulled away from the increasing mob. Fortunately, the song was not a waltz and Kentworth spoke very little. When the end came, he was rather eager to depart from his partner, his eyes scanning the room for Ophelia frantically, the scent of Alpha just a little too strong. Suddenly, the room didn't seem big enough.

“Excuse me, my Lord,” he said, breathless from more than just the dance. “I believe I'll just be a moment.” He nearly ran, keeping his feet close together while he slipped quickly through the crowd and then out the glass doors that led to the terrace. The fresh air hit him hard in the face, cold and clear and while he kept his strides tight, he approached the stone railing and promptly vomited over it, heaving everything in his stomach into the bushes below.

When he thought himself done, he stood straight and gave a small gasp when he noticed a rather large—no, _huge—_ presence beside him. He wasn't close and had probably been about a yard away from him the entire time he was losing his dinner into the garden. The slight breeze told Hollow that he was standing upwind from the stranger, baring his delectable Omega scent to one who most certainly looked the part of a very big, _very_ strong Alpha who was standing on the terrace _very alone._

_Do not be pulled into the garden._

The Alpha appeared unimpressed, silently moving to hold out a glass of amber liquid by the rim. Hollow stared at it as if it were a snake.

His voice put a shiver through Hollow's very blood.

“Get that taste out of your mouth. And put a little courage in your heart.”

He reached out and took it, careful that their fingers didn't touch. He swished the bourbon about his mouth before he swallowed it, holding the glass close to himself. “Thank you.”

The Alpha continued, leaning back on the stone rail. “There's a reason they all cluster together. The girls.” He wasn't smiling, his gaze entirely serious and his eyes a deep gold in the dim light. “The stench of so many Alphas in one place is enough to quite literally turn your stomach, as you so eloquently demonstrated.”

Hollow took the last swallow of the bourbon in the glass and mourned the loss of it.

He sounded a little amused, turning his eyes toward the stone floor of the terrace. “They're probably all trying to sniff you out. Perhaps it's time you again joined the fray.”

He felt his stomach clench. “I don't know if I can. They're like...”

“Dogs,” he finished. “I know.”

They stood together for a few more seconds before that delicate lilting voice found him and Ophelia swept onto the terrace, eying the Alpha with a cool stare while she ushered Hollow back into the ballroom. She kept him by the doors, easing him past the cluster of Omegas, their scents calming him as he lingered near them.

“I was worried about you, Hollow. Please don't get caught alone.”

He looked down at the empty glass in his hand and looked over his shoulder. From where he stood, he could just see out the french doors but the Alpha was gone. “My Lady...he was very kind. Why did you not introduce me?”

She scoffed and did not answer his question. “My love, they will _all_ be very kind.”

He was sure she was right. The stranger on the terrace was probably just as dangerous or even more so than the multitudes that were filtering toward him at that moment. Still, he looked for the tall Alpha among those who gathered in front of him while the increasingly interested pack of Omegas flanked him with their fans and feathers. The golden-eyed stranger was gone.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a few hundred words away from being double the average, but with the split for time, it seemed manageable.
> 
> We're still at the ball in the next chapter, but this time, we'll be in Morgan's point of view.
> 
> Comments? Questions? Concerns? Love it/Hate it/Think you found a historical inaccuracy that's glaringly obvious? Be sure to let me know your thoughts, whatever they are.


	5. Chapter 5

The poor boy had smelled almost entirely of fear when he'd emerged from the thick of the party and dramatically leaned over the railing near to where Morgan had been standing. Anxiety had been roiling off of him in waves of sweet and sour before he'd been hardened up by a dab of spirits. Once most of the nervousness was gone, his aroma had developed into something almost intensely sweet, as if Morgan should have rather licked him than scented him. There was no wonder that so many of the Alphas present should want to meet him. He was different, he was awkward, and he presented the ideal that it could be very possible to have a husband rather than a wife—a possibility that, for many, was too convenient to pass up. His hair was a short strawberry blonde and it was unruly much like Morgan's, fanning up on one side as if he could sleep no other way. His features were more pretty than handsome which was not unexpected by any means. With no other male Omegas who were single in town this year so far, he would most likely find himself the center of attention at any party and probably vomiting over the rails at every one he attended.

When Lady Westbrooke had guided the little Omega back into the party, she'd shot him a reproachful glance that was not entirely undeserved. After all, when she'd been just a fresh-faced debutante, he may or may not have stolen a kiss from her. It wasn't his custom to do so with the Beta girls but when they made it easy, he wasn't one to be too discerning.

He found flocking around a particular Omega or even a group of them distasteful so he moved along the edges of the dance floor until he was settled at Lady Hayworth's side. There were better ways to get what he wanted and to know what he wanted to know.

“Asterly,” she greeted. “Pity that Lady Turnwell is still convalescing. She is a marvelous dance partner. I should have loved to see your waltz.”

“Not quite so much a pity,” he rumbled. “If all of my attentions were else wise engaged, I would not be able to watch the spectacle the Alpha ton have become.”

She murmured with a smug tone, “I hadn't even known.” She glanced sideways at him and smiled. “Plotting how you're going to scent him? You always were a naughty man.” She would have known. She _was_ Hayworth's wife and Morgan was not fool enough to believe that the man did not admit to their sins in the privacy of his bedchamber.

“I missed my chance on the terrace but I suppose it would have been beastly to have done so while he was otherwise distracted.” He didn't admit that the wind was kind to him and that he had gotten quite a fill of the little Omega. Enough to know that he would be very happy to grip the back of his head and press his nose hard against that pretty pale throat. “I'll catch him for a dance if I can—”

“A waltz?” She was baiting him now.

He paused. “Perhaps.”

“You know, Asterly, you could make them all move for you.”

“That's not very sporting is it, my Lady?”

She teased him. “And I suppose it's not sporting to know his name either?”

Morgan sniffed.

“Mr. Hainsley. Bartholomew.”

“Ah.” That was why he'd been ushered about by Lady Westbrooke. It was why there was that ring of familiarity that had echoed in his head when he'd looked at the boy. He was the younger Hainsley. That made things difficult. Difficult, but not impossible. The Earl had no particular affinity for him and it was no surprise. Many of the men in the room were aware that the Duke had managed to kiss their wives long before they had even had the opportunity to look upon them. A rake who had a habit of kissing virgins, fucking widows, and outranking them in peerage was not a man who was often high on their lists of friends. He shifted his weight to lean toward her while she lifted her ear. “A garden party. Small. Intimate. More Omegas than Alphas.”

Lady Hayworth tsked. “You know I can't do _that_. The pairings have to be at _least_ even.”

“No matter,” he dismissed. “Something to foster conversation. And I want to be next to him at dinner.”

“Awful demanding tonight. He's not a widow, Asterly. What could your intentions possibly be?”

He straightened up, squaring his shoulders and frowning. “One can never be sure.”

“Be careful,” she mused. “He's not looking to marry. That's obvious enough.”

“Well good,” Morgan quipped. “Neither am I.”

He left her side and wandered into the room where the card tables were set up. Practically filled with cigar smoke, the scents were a little less competitive as most of the Betas were lingering within. He went straight to the liquor cabinet, filling a glass about halfway with bourbon before he left again, keeping an eye on Westbrooke. Determining he wasn't losing, he deduced that the Earl would be engaged for a little while at least. That was one of the obstacles that was entirely out of his way and the next would be the delightful Countess. With the right line of sight, it would all take care of itself.

He wandered around the edges of the room and hoped no one noticed the way he prowled, looking for the exact spot he should stand in to be out of Lady Westbrooke's line of sight but within the little Omega's. Passing him was Marksdown and with a casual snag of the sleeve, he pulled the other Alpha close.

“Asterly?”

“Do me a favor, friend. Ask that Lady Westbrooke dance with you.”

Marksdown flitted his eyes to the Lady in question and scoffed. “You're actually making the attempt? You've got to be out of your wits, Duke. Why not do what everyone else does and elbow in?”

“Did you elbow in for your wife?”

His friend opened his mouth and then stopped, closing it and letting Morgan have that small victory. He'd played the part of wingman too many times to be told that he should just be elbowing into the mob. “Fine. I'll fight for you, but I don't want to hear about this in the papers tomorrow.”

“It's just a little sniff,” Morgan scoffed. “He won't even notice.”

“Oh, yes, he won't even notice,” his friend replied with a roll of his eyes.

He delayed until the next set had begun and Lady Westbrooke, bound by etiquette, had begun dancing with Marksdown. Morgan had to give the little Omega credit. Even as many of the other girls disappeared onto the dancefloor, he fielded requests to dance and declined them very gently and calculatingly, insisting that he was by no means an expert in the Quadrille. As Marksdown had gotten Lady Westbrooke completely out of the picture, he moved against the french doors, parting the little clump of Omegas from the back, approaching Hainsley from his flank, startling him yet again.

With a haughty and possessive glance, Morgan managed to quiet the Alpha who was talking—a handsome but untitled gentleman by the name of Samwell. Without saying anything at all, he handed off the glass of bourbon to Hainsley and gave the most self-satisfied smirk to the crowd of Alphas and even a few Betas when the Omega took it without question, having refused every offer of punch throughout the night. He wasted no time, easing just one finger into Hainsley's waistcoat at his lower back and tugging gently while the cluster of Omegas broke out their fans and started fluttering them at their throats, creating a wall of scent while they presented themselves and postured as their main competition was led backwards through their ranks and they closed the gap, cutting him off from the crowd of Alphas.

Hainsley probably didn't even know what had happened by the time he was out the nearest door and on the terrace again. Whatever was the case, he seemed entirely grateful to have the glass in his hands and to be away from the battle of wills. A slight sheen of sweat was present on his brow and Morgan wished to be able to wipe it away with his handkerchief.

“You appeared as if you could use some help,” he noted casually, moving upwind so Hainsley could catch his strong Alpha tone.

“You have a good eye,” he replied, taking a sip. “If I have to hear one more inane comment about the weather or compliments on my dancing, I might find myself tossing _myself_ over the railing.”

Morgan laughed and delighted in the way the sound made Hainsley's shoulders tense and his body shiver only just so slightly. “That would serve them all,” he chuckled, leaning on the rail again. “They can't help themselves. Give them a few parties and they'll calm. It will get easier. Of course, do not be surprised when you go home to find that several of them have already asked your brother if he would allow them to court you.”

“Ugh,” he put his hand on his chest. “I can hardly think of any of them that would be suitable.”

“Not even Kentworth?”

Hainsley snorted. “I'd sooner marry Penberth. Of course...that may be what I do. He has already offered and...” He lost his amusement and his eyes glazed over, his voice listless. “He may very well rescue me, after all.”

“Not a bad choice,” Morgan shrugged a shoulder. He was lying, of course. Penberth was a terrible choice. Not that he was a terrible man, by any means. He _should_ have been an Alpha by all accounts, with his size and his mannerisms, he would have fit in perfectly. The fact remained that he _wasn't_ one. That, in itself, was something Morgan knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was a horrible idea for a marriage of convenience. If there was no love, that is, true, passionate love, between a Beta and either of the other two dynamics, there could be no real happiness. Alphas and Omegas were quite simply _made_ for each other. A Beta's scent wasn't enough to sate a heated Omega and neither were their... He cleared his throat. “He should inherit the Belcourt estate and holdings. He's intelligent. Is he here?” He slid down the railing, closer to where Hainsley stood, marveling that the sudden movement didn't immediately put the man on edge.

“I haven't seen him,” the Omega said, turning toward the doors. A reckless or naïve move, he left his back open to Morgan. If he was going to swoop in for a casual scent, it was now that he would do it. If he was bolder, he could take Hainsley's shoulders in a firm grip and dip his nose down to intimately press against his flesh. It was the easiest way to avoid being slapped, or in this case, possibly punched.

But he didn't. He let the moment slip by and waited until Hainsley turned around again, facing him where he leaned. Instead, he shrugged. “If he were here, you could at least dance with him. As he has not decided to make an appearance for you, may I have the honor of a waltz?”

Hainsley looked down into his glass, finishing it before he glanced over his shoulder to the dance floor. Casting his uncertain gaze back toward Morgan, he nodded, letting the Alpha lead him back through the french doors while the first measures began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A waltz? Tsk. The Society Papers are going to eat you both alive.
> 
> Thank you for your comments and for your subscriptions, I can see there is a lot of interest here despite it being an original work.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise. Double update today. Also: Sorry in advance, but you don't get to actually see the waltz.

He was sitting opposite of Julian with Ophelia by his side as the carriage rocked and swayed on their way home. He was tired and he felt as if he absolutely reeked of smoke and that hideous Alpha mixture. He and Ophelia were practically dozing off when Julian spoke.

“So? You two aren't going to tell me who's got the best chances? Nobody's going to tell me whether or not Hollow broke anyone's nose?”

Lady Westbrooke cracked her eyes open and took a long breath. “If you were all that interested, you should have been helping me keep track of your brother all night.” Her voice took on an edge. “Marksdown asked me to dance and the next thing I know, I'm heading back to where I thought I left him and Hollow's off in a waltz.”

Julian grinned at Hollow. “Well, well, you little sneak. And you thought this ball was going to be atrocious.”

Ophelia snipped back, “It _was_ atrocious. He was waltzing with Asterly.”

“Asterly?” Hollow asked, his eyes snapping open. “Gods, I didn't even ask him his name.”

Julian pulled a bit of a face. “You didn't break Asterly's nose?”

“Of course not. He was a perfect gentleman.” He felt almost insulted by the insinuation that he should have been breaking the nose of someone who had been more civil than any of the other Alphas present. “He was very kind.”

Julian sighed and echoed Ophelia's previous sentiment. “Hollow, that's very lovely but they're _all_ going to be nice to you. Asterly is a bit of a surprise in any case. He doesn't waltz with debutantes. I think he prefers to go home with unbruised toes.”

Lady Westbrooke gave a slight huff. “He's gone home with a sore cheek once or twice but it's his _toes_ you think he's concerned about? Your brother could have been scented. He could have been _kissed_.”

Julian chuckled. “But he wasn't. Were you, Hollow? The dastardly Duke of Asterly didn't whisk you away into the garden and kiss you, did he?” He was teasing his wife, his smile playing over his lips. “He's a cad, that's certain, but I wouldn't suggest getting cornered by any of those dogs. Not a single one of them are trustworthy enough not to risk their front teeth for a stolen kiss in the moonlight.”

Hollow shook his head. He'd not been kissed. He'd never been kissed before. He suddenly recognized how easy it could have been for him to have been scented while standing on the terrace. He'd even turned his back on the Alpha at least once or twice. He'd been so damned stupid. Not only that but he'd agreed to a waltz. In fact, after that dance, he had danced with a few more potential mates, his nerves having been steadied by the two glasses of liquor he'd been gifted—but the golden-eyed Alpha had been his only waltz. He spoke to Julian, his voice unsteady. “I don't know if I'll remember their _names_.”

“Good,” Ophelia sniffed. “Forget Asterly.”

* * *

In the days that went by, it wasn't hard to forget just about every name he'd come across. That was, except for the suitors who'd sent him flowers. Those cards he'd put up in his room as a note to himself. None came from Asterly. Invitations to soirees and afternoon tea piled in everyday, most of them addressed to all three of them and some of them separated so that Hollow had one for just his name alone. Exhausted by all the mail, he allowed Ophelia to open anything addressed to him that looked like a party invitation so that she could decide which invitations to accept and which to reject. The way it was turning out, it seemed as if he would have his entire season booked for nearly every day.

He was laying on the settee in the drawing room when an envelope fluttered onto his stomach. Julian had tossed it on him, telling him that Lady Westbrooke had gone into town to find herself some more ribbon and that he was going too have to open his own letters. He sat up, swinging his legs down to the floor while he tore it open.

“Oh,” he smiled. “I've been invited to a garden party. By Lady Hayworth.”

“Lovely,” the Earl mused, standing by the window. “I wouldn't mind a garden party. When Lady Westbrooke comes back, tell her you'd like to go and make sure you're not double-booked. She's been waiting on your approval for some of the events to make sure you're comfortable. If we have to bow out of any of them, it'll be understandable. Many of the young ladies do it. It's not uncommon for Omegas to become fatigued.”

He remembered what Miss Calloway had said about heats coming on from stress and he nodded, swallowing a bit. “Yes. Thank you, my Lord.”

His brother continued. “With all these flowers that are starting to pile up in your room and,” he eyed the ones that were decorating the drawing room, “ _elsewhere_ , I'm surprised I haven't had to beat any of your suitors away from the door with a cane. You must have been quite intimidating. Usually at least one of them has the nerve to call on you at home.”

He held the invitation in his fingers and laid back down on the settee. “Perhaps I broke a few hearts. One can only hope.”

“Yes,” Julian replied dryly. “I remember, you'd rather suffer alone at Westbrooke.”

He frowned while he held the small sheet above his head, staring at the way the light from the window played across the thick paper and Lady Hayworth's spidery writing. He stayed there with the little slip on his stomach until he'd dozed off, only to be woken by Lady Westbrooke when she came back from town. It turned out that she didn't mind the garden party at all and there would be no double booking.

Feeling a little better about having made at least one decision that season, he didn't even flinch when she reminded him that he had another engagement that evening. It was a dinner and he bore it as well as he could, forced to sit with Mr. Samwell and Lord Kentworth, both of whom had sent him bouquets. He tried to remember the types of flowers he'd been sent but the names of such trifles were not his forte so he settled for asking the two of them if they'd received his notes of gratitude. As boring as he'd originally thought the dinner was going to be, there was at least one colorful character his eyes were immediately drawn to.

She had short hair and she was tall. Almost as tall as Asterly. Clearly an Alpha, she wore men's clothes, clad in a shirt, a waistcoat and a dinner jacket, her hands gloved in pristine white kid and her face stunningly beautiful even without the typical frame of long, feminine locks. She was sitting near to the hostess and her name was Lady Netherfield. Though they called her “Lady,” Hollow came to understand that she was _not_ a Countess but an _Earl_. Puzzled, having never before seen such a thing, Hollow found himself intensely curious, casting glances her way most of the night and trying his best to pick up snippets of her conversation over the useless drabbles that were coming from Samwell and Kentworth.

Discontented when he was ushered out of the dining room with the other debutantes when the cigars broke out, he waited in the drawing room, only slightly placated when he was handed a glass of sherry. Being treated like an Omega when only the previous season he'd been to plenty of dinners and left at the table as a Beta was not only disappointing, it was downright humiliating. Especially when it was overtly clear that none of the young Omega debutantes who were attending wanted anything to do with him. He lingered at the edges, near the curtains, watching Lady Westbrooke charming the hostess with her casual banter, the room becoming scented with a pleasant overtone of Omega.

When the gentlemen—and the _Lady—_ retired to the drawing room, he found himself suddenly nearly overcome by the attentions the single Alphas. So much so that hostess made certain to politely steer them away to the other young ladies so that Hollow wouldn't be suffocated. He was ultimately pleased when he had the good fortune of having the Earl of Netherfield tucked against the wall beside him. They bowed to each other in greeting and he found himself a little warm in the face after looking at her properly.

“I suppose,” she started, “Your glances during dinner were due to your being curious as to my title, rather than enamored by my appearance.”

Hollow pulled his sherry tighter against his chest. “I um...I have never seen a woman Earl. Though you are every bit as stately and most certainly look the part.”

She was smiling at him fully and openly. “My father had a litter of girls. All Betas save the eldest. Me. He was determined that his estate would continue in his line and so he read the rules a little differently and was rewarded for it.” Her grin was from ear to ear. “I am an Alpha and I am an Earl. I have all the necessary prerequisites and I can continue a line. What more need could I have?”

 _A husband_ , Hollow's mind screamed. He swallowed nervously, realizing that despite her appearance, she was most likely just as determined to win his hand. Perhaps more so. He answered and hoped it was even. “The search for a bondmate must be a trial for you. How many of the ladies have been accommodating?”

She chuckled. “They are surprisingly more welcoming to the idea than I had thought they might have been. I procure dances from the edges fairly easily. I have the unique distinction of appearing nonthreatening.”

He chuckled even though he didn't feel like doing it. “Is that a fact?”

She raised a brow and smirked. “Do I threaten you, Mr. Hainsley?” She turned around to the window, her back to the drawing room, looking out into the moonlight. “Perhaps I can alleviate a bit of that fear.”

He turned around with her, curious, and watched while she gently pulled the wrist of her glove down and offered it for him to scent. Bewildered, he gave her a glance and when she nodded her head, he took her hand and lifted it gingerly, letting her scent fill his senses. Up close, her aroma burst into his brain in an explosion of fragrance that sent tingles over his neck and back, sending goosebumps down his arms and thighs. His mind flitted through old memories, each one calming and serene. Evenings at Westbrooke in the drawing room with a good book. The wind whipping through his hair as he rode through a glen. Even a time when he was a lad, rolling around in the grass with Edwin's favorite old hound. As a Beta, he'd never had such a reaction to an Alpha scent, finding them tolerable at best and outright offensive at worst. Pleasantly surprised, he looked into her eyes and without thinking, put out his hand, his gaze settling on her face when she delicately pulled aside his glove, the movement almost inherently sensual, as if she were undressing him. She did not touch his wrist with her nose. Much like Lady Hayworth, she kept him at a decent distance but her reaction was markedly different.

“By god,” she whispered, her eyes closing and her shoulders giving a slight shiver. She gave him back his hand and straightened fully, bringing her fingers to her nose as if trying to preserve the scent there. Her voice was low so as not to be overheard. “I understand this is very untoward but, Mr. Hainsley, you have got to be the most delicious man in England.”

He found himself astonishingly flattered by her assertion and not having minded at all that he had allowed her to scent him. Doing so of his own volition seemed like something that he'd thought would never happen and here he was, so early in the season, and he had willingly allowed it. Of course, he thought to himself, she _was_ a bit less intimidating than most of the men, despite her height and her clearly Alpha build. Toward the end of the night he was more comfortable next to her, openly speaking and freely laughing at her humor. Ophelia was casting glances of tacit approval from the other side of the room while she sat next to the hostess and chatted with a lovely little Omega who could not have been more than sixteen.

After Ophelia took a turn about the room and mentioned that it was getting late, Hollow determined that he should possibly relieve himself before he was jostled around in the carriage on the sometimes uneven London streets. When he was finished, he was somewhat disconcerted to find that the dimly lit hallway was not deserted, and in fact, Kentworth was lingering nearby. Assuming that the Alpha had merely needed to relieve himself as well, he moved to wander back to the drawing room.

“Mr. Hainsley.”

His hackles rose and a deep unsettling feeling invaded his stomach. He turned around, the Alpha too close. He took a few steps back, wondering how long it would take someone to notice that there was an Omega and an Alpha both missing from the drawing room. “Kentworth,” he murmured, hoping that his tone was more warning than it was anxiety.

With a bit of footwork, the large Vicount had effectively backed him against the wall, leaving only about a foot of space between them. His voice was low and dangerous. “Is it because she's a woman? She'll knot you, just like any of us.”

Hollow's ears were ringing and he found himself sputtering at the base language, his face hot.

Kentworth wasn't finished. “You let her scent you. She didn't think any of us would be watching but I can't take my eyes off of you. You let her breathe you. After having only just met her. She may be a woman, Hainsley, but she'll rut you like any other. Don't let her fool you.” He seemed to think for a moment before he touched Hollow's face and his large palm slid along the edge of his jaw, his fingers sifting into the short hair at the back of his neck.

“Don't,” Hollow whispered, realizing that he was trembling hard.

The Alpha's eyes were entirely black in the dim candlelight. He whispered back. “I would be so good to you, Hainsley. I could give you _everything_.”

“Please don't.” He could have cried. “I would...” he felt his voice straining against a lump in his throat. “I would very much like to go back to the drawing room now.”

Kentworth didn't respond, his grip on Hollow's jaw and neck tightening while he dipped his face down, forcefully tilting his head to expose the side of his throat, pressing his nose against it.

He felt the way the air around his throat was suddenly cold and a hard anger welled inside his chest. For a single moment he hoped he smelled very, _very_ good. It was spite talking, he realized just as he was jamming his knee straight up in between the Alpha's spread legs. He didn't even hear the pained yowl through the ringing in his ears. By the time he felt strong arms around him, he recognized that he was yelling cuss words and kicking the Alpha while he was curled on the floor, one of Kentworth's hands protecting his head and the other cupping his crotch.

“Hollow!” Ophelia snapped, bringing him back into the dark hallway. His chest was heaving against Lady Netherfield's arms as she held him from the back. He panted hard, his whole body tingling and straining. He pressed his head back and breathed in Netherfield's scent, wishing he could press his nose against her neck to get more of it. He didn't bother trying to explain to the gathering crowd what had happened. They knew. The shame of it was too much for him.

“Let me go,” he begged and Netherfield allowed it, her expression that of obvious concern. While most of them were distracted by the groaning Alpha on the floor, he stumbled into the front hall and ignored Ophelia's request for him to stop before he staggered out the front door, feeling beads of sweat just beginning to trickle down the small of his back under his shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh. Off in the wilds of London all worked up? Tsk. Unbelievable.


	7. Chapter 7

Whites hadn't been entirely boring as it had been the first time he'd been able to get together with Marksdown and Hayworth since the ball and they'd been quite curious as to how he'd ended up waltzing with Westbrooke's little brother. He explained the manipulation, assisted by Marksdown who detailed his exact words to Lady Westbrooke that had gotten her away from the small Omega's side. He admitted, somewhat bashfully, that he hadn't bothered to even attempt scenting Hainsley even once. Not even during their waltz. They had marveled at him, staring at each other with markedly curious expressions which had unnerved him. Perhaps they were getting the wrong idea. He'd changed the topic after that, unwilling to entertain their erroneous assumptions about his intentions toward the young Mr. Hainsley. Aside from that, he didn't know if he _could_ explain why he hadn't bothered to scent him.

He sat brooding on his way home until the carriage stopped rather short. Bickett, who'd decided to drive that night, opened the carriage door and his mouth quirked. “Your Grace, I very much apologize but you may wish to assist Mr. Hainsley?”

Morgan frowned, his brain puzzling even as he was climbing out of the coach into the dark London drizzle. Bickett stood next to him while he straightened and peered down toward the ground a few yards from the horses where Hainsley sat, propped up against a wrought iron fence, his cravat in his hand. He was wet, almost entirely soaked through, which Morgan found interesting since the rain was rather light as yet—he hadn't remembered it ever pouring. He glanced at Bickett and then approached the young Omega, sweeping his gaze over both of his shoulders, trying to find anyone who might have been with the poor boy.

As he got closer, the rain got a little heavier and Hainsley looked upward. His breaths were shallow as if he'd been running and his voice was raspy and winded. “Don't. Don't touch me.”

“I won't touch you, sweeting,” Morgan replied. He took another step closer and then crouched down, immediately getting back up when he was hit with the powerful invitation Hainsley's body was emitting. He was in heat, alone in the street. Morgan turned around, shaking his head to dispel the scent from his nose before he turned around again, sucking in a few breaths of the London rain to help him think. He cleared his throat and addressed Hainsley again. “Mr. Hainsley, you cannot stay on the side of the road.”

The cheeky Omega glared up at him and said breathlessly, “I'll do whatever I damned well want to do. Go to the devil, Alpha.”

“Is that so?” he asked. “And what happens when someone finds you?”

“Someone _has_ found me,” Hainsley growled. “And he won't leave me alone.”

“And if an unscrupulous character found you this way?”

Hainsley narrowed his eyes upward. “Who's to say _you're_ not such a character? You...” he had to pause to take a deep shuddering breath. “You're all going to be nice to me...that's...” His eyes lost focus for a second, his breath gone. He came back quickly. “That's what Lady...Lady Westbrooke said. You'll all be _kind_.”

“You need water Mr. Hainsley. What are you going to do? Drink from a puddle? You do realize you've gone into heat.” He tried not to sound too amused. It was a rather silly concept, that an Omega shouldn't know precisely what was happening to him.

“Devil take you,” Hainsley spat. “Leave me alone.”

Morgan sighed heavily through his nose. “I'm going to do something terrible to you, Mr. Hainsley. But I want you to know that it is only to get your attention enough that you will quit your fool's errand of sitting in the mud and dying of thirst.” He glanced over his shoulders again and then knelt down.

Hainsley didn't move, too weak to fight him off, his breath still coming in short pants. “Go away,” he growled.

With careful movements, Morgan pulled up the sleeve of his greatcoat and took off one of his gloves. He didn't bother holding his breath, taking in all of the Omega's scent as he leaned in, placing his wrist just under Hainsley's nose. He observed, fascinated, as the boy's breaths became more solid, his eyes opening and his pupils widening until they were massive black discs. He didn't take his wrist away even as the Omega sat up straight and grabbed his forearm tight in his hands.

“Do you want more of that?” Morgan asked.

Hainsley couldn't answer. All that came from him was a high pitched whine that led into an open-mouthed groan while he pitched forward onto his knees, pushing his nose against Morgan's wrist and breathing deeply.

“Bickett and I are going to get you out of the rain, Mr. Hainsley. Will that be alright?” When he didn't respond, Morgan eased his arm out of the Omega's grip, pulling his wrist away. “Do you agree to getting out of the rain, Mr. Hainsley?”

“Yes,” he pleaded. “ _Yes._ ”

“Splendid,” Morgan sighed, sweeping Hainsley into his arms easily and whisking him into the coach. He looked at Bickett through the open carriage door and stated plainly, “To the house, Bickett. We'll draw him a cold bath and send a note to Westbrooke. No doubt he'll want to gather him.”

As soon as they were on their way, the wriggling mass of Omega that was in his arms was gripping him hard. Without thinking too hard about it, he arranged Hainsley to straddle his lap, pushing him back a little bit in order to look into his eyes.

“Mr. Hainsley, we are in a very precarious situation here. You are a debutante and I am a gentleman. Not just a gentleman. A peer. I will not be allowing you to put yourself unwillingly into a compromising situation.” He looked around at them, alone in his carriage. “A _more_ compromising situation,” he amended. “That said, you must realize that I will not be able to help you more than what I've already done. Do you understand?”

The Omega couldn't even hear him. His head was swimming with the scent of aroused Alpha as it filled the small space, his eyes rolling. His hands grasped onto whatever they could find, seizing onto the edges of Morgan's greatcoat, tugging while he took in huge lungfuls of the thick, hazy carriage air that mingled the strong scents emitted from both of them. He gulped and whispered into the darkness.

“I need help.” He gasped, his glazed eyes fixing on Morgan's face, their intent unnerving. “Help me.” Possessed, he reached down between his legs and Morgan caught both his wrists, holding them up to his shoulders. His body arched while he tried to get nearer to Morgan, to scent him and to touch him. He had a surprising amount of wherewithal when he murmured, “Would that I could kiss you.”

“About twenty-four hours from now and you'll be rather glad that you didn't,” Morgan argued but his eyes lingered on Hainsley's plush pink lips anyway, watching him wet them with his tongue, unknowingly seducing him. The erotic scent of an Omega in heat around him was overwhelming. He'd begun to get hard while they were still in the street but in the carriage, he was straining and full, uncomfortably tight. If the boy were to look down between his spread legs, it would have been entirely obvious the effect his scent had on mature Alphas.

As it was, Hainsley was still pushing forward, trying like hell to get his nose closer to Morgan's throat. He would not succeed as long as Morgan was holding him but the will to do so was slowly fading while he watched the Omega squirm, his hips making a very slight rocking motion that was putting the Alpha on edge. Finally, the carriage came to a slow stop and without warning his charge, he let him go, allowing him to crumple against his chest while he covered him with his greatcoat and scooped him up in his arms to carry him quickly into the house. Once they were inside the front hall, he swept off his coat and gracefully forced Hainsley to stand on his own feet, whirling about to give Bickett his hat and gloves before he grabbed the boy again.

“Cold bath, my chambers, cold clothes for presses, soak them in the rain if you have to. We will wait in the drawing room until it is ready, and Bickett.” He gave the valet a hard stare. “Get us yourself. I want as little of the staff as possible to know he's here.”

The valet nodded and bowed with a murmured “Your Grace” as his affirmative, slipping away quickly before Morgan picked Hainsley up and brought him to the drawing room, setting him down on the settee.

“Brandy, Mr. Hainsley?”

Hainsley was leaning severely on the backrest of the settee, his legs tossed in front of him dramatically while his chest heaved. Without his cravat, his collarbone was just barely visible and Morgan observed the edges of that adorable pink rash that so many Omegas seemed to get during arousal. He didn't answer the question, his words coming in thick bursts. “I need. Help. Please.”

Morgan's mind was screaming at him just to sit down. His nerves were tingling all over and his pants were so tight he thought he might tear them. He turned around and gave in, sitting next to the boy on the settee, allowing him to lethargically pull himself up and swing his short leg over Morgan's lap. He didn't stop the Omega from burying his nose deep against his throat, soaking in his arousal and the beginnings of what could eventually turn into one hell of an unbearable rut. He could feel himself shaking when he allowed himself to lean his head just enough to brush his cheek against the cowlick at the side of Hainsley's head, taking a direct hit of his exquisite honeyed aroma, marveling in its intensity and its uniqueness. He'd never smelled anything quite like it in his life and it put a hard shudder through his body.

“By God,” Morgan whispered, “Hell and damnation.” His palms skimmed over Hainsley's thighs, working up to his hips and pulling him until he could grind upwards, putting delicious pressure between them that made Hainsley gasp and moan, the sound guttural and stuttering as it escaped his quivering lips. His grip tightened and he put one hand on the Omega's thigh and the other deep in the hair on the back of his head, holding him tight against his body while he allowed the young man to rock his hips back and forth. The motion became steady and quick while Hainsley clawed desperately at the back of his waistcoat and released breathy yelps of pleasure until his whole body stiffened and he let go a long groan before collapsing on top of Morgan, heavy fatigued pants escaping him while he trembled in the wake of his release.

He held the little Omega tight still, alarm bells ringing loud in his head. Swallowing a few times, he managed to peel the boy off of him, depositing him laying down. Still shaking and with an awkward laugh, Morgan looked down at his absolutely sopping lap and the large wet spot that marked where they'd been sitting on the velvet of the settee. With another strangled laugh and a hand through his hair, he noted that there was even a little puddle barely visible on the carpet.

“Shit,” he whispered, covering his mouth with his fingers.

Bickett's voice shocked him from the doorway.

“The accommodations have been made, Your Grace. I sent Mrs. Tillerson's son with a sealed note to Westbrooke. He should be arriving any moment.”

“Thank you, Bickett.” Steeling himself, he held his breath while he picked Hainsley up and took him up the stairs with Bickett bringing up the rear. He left the boy in the care of his valet and retreated to the water closet where he preceded to pound out the most excruciating orgasm he thought he'd ever experienced in his life. It ripped through him hard and he couldn't help gritting his teeth, a sticky string of saliva dribbling from his lips while he lost himself, his knees nearly giving out from under him. When his body was finished with its involuntary spasms, he surprised himself by letting loose a few desperate sobs.

It only took him a few minutes to collect himself so he returned to the drawing room and poured himself a bracing glass of brandy to the brim, sipping it quickly before his shaking hands could spill the damned thing everywhere. He moved to stand close to the fireplace, leaning on the mantle and putting his thighs close as to dry the soaked fabric of his trousers. The heady scent of Omega was everywhere and especially all over _him_. What was Westbrooke going to think when he walked into a drawing room that reeked of sex and his own brother? What was he going to do when he found Morgan leaning against the mantle and drinking, trying to dry his brother's slick from his pants?

He lifted the glass to his lips again and kept gulping until it was gone, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and then burying his face in his arm. He stayed that way until Westbrooke's voice floated in from the doorway.

“Asterly.”

It came out of the elder Hainsley's mouth as a desperate plea. It wasn't quite what Morgan had expected, his imaginings being more centered around Westbrooke coming in and shooting him with a dueling pistol. He lifted his head and only half-turned, still leaning heavily on the mantle. He could still feel himself shaking and he hated himself for it.

Westbrooke took a few steps into the room. “Is he...”

“I swear by my life, Westbrooke, he's undamaged.”

The Earl's eyes were drawn to the settee, alarm in his features.

Morgan rubbed his face with his palm. “He was...quite ardent.”

There was a long, drawn-out silence in which Morgan couldn't bring himself to look at the Earl, the shame of having allowed Hainsley to grind against him when he'd _known_ the boy would wake on the morrow and regret the action heavy on his shoulders. He wasn't a savage. At least, he wasn't supposed to be. He was supposed to be able to control himself. When Westbrooke spoke again, the words were foreign and strange-sounding.

“And yourself, Asterly? He affected you greatly.”

“Hah,” he choked. “Still trembling, am I?” He laughed mirthlessly. “I suppose that should be evidence enough that I did not sate myself. Though if your brother wishes when he is recovered to slap me, I will put up no fight against it.” He tried to stroll as easily as possible to the cupboard. “Brandy? Sherry?” he gave pause. “Bourbon?”

“No...I...” Westbrooke was still casting glances toward the damp spot on the settee. “I should collect my brother. And I should thank you, Asterly. You've done a great favor for me.”

He poured himself a glass of brandy and spoke over his shoulder. “Do not thank me. I stand here like an ass, shaking in a rut, and you speak as if I'm some paragon of morality. Let your brother decide whether I deserve thanks or not.” He raised his eyes to Westbrooke and set down his glass on the cupboard, untying his cravat and folding it into a square. He held it out to the Earl. “It is impudent, I understand but...for your brother. If he needs it. If he... _wants_ it.”

Westbrooke didn't appear offended in the slightest, his brows quirking downward in more confusion than anything else before he murmured his thanks again and made his way up the stairs.

Morgan turned around and picked up his brandy, returning once again to the mantle where he stayed until his house was quiet and Bickett informed him that his bedclothes were ready. The fire was down to coals by the time he made it up the stairs, dragging his feet along the carpet and dragging in every breath that could bring him the fading scent of heated Omega. While he lay in his cool sheets, staring up at the brocade, his mind rolled around and around, settling heavily on Hainsley's sensual words, slipping dangerously out of those pretty pink lips.

_Would that I could kiss you._

Morgan covered his face in his pillow and wished he would simply die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone's got a crush.
> 
> Comments? Concerns? Still hate Morgan? That's okay. He's a little rough around the edges but at least he's not out deflowering virgins...or cornering them in dark hallways.


	8. Chapter 8

Hollow remained in bed, curled away from the door and unrestrained the whole of the next day. He slept for much of it, his nose delicately tucked against that soft length of fabric Julian had given him when he'd been settled in. In the hours that he was awake, he was given broth to sip and water to gulp with cold compresses placed on his head. The delicious and calming scent from the _Alpha's_ cravat was what seemed to keep him sane, the fragrance reminding him of sun-warmed hard wood floors and the sensation of standing in a forest surrounded by spicy-smelling pine. He wanted to keep it fresh by stuffing into his pillow casing but he couldn't seem to pry it out of his fingers, toying with it constantly even as he flushed and stuttered to Miss Calloway his apologies for being such an imposition.

As the heat faded in the evening, he was overcome by innate mortification. Still holding the crumpled cravat to his chest, he stared upwards and felt tears slowly escaping from the corners of his eyes, sliding behind his ears and soaking into his hair. He'd been an _animal_. The way he'd spoken, the way he'd forced himself forward and ground his hips downward, rubbing his—

He pulled the covers over his head and pulled the cravat to his nose again. The Alpha— _Astlerly_ —must have thought him a complete tart. To be fair, he'd told him to leave him alone. He'd told him not to touch him. Although, he frowned, remembering back, Asterly _hadn't_ touched him. That was, not until Hollow had touched him first. He felt his face warm considerably when he recalled the way he'd begged for help. He hadn't even known what he'd been begging for specifically. All he'd known was that his clothes were annoying him and his groin was throbbing. He'd _wanted_ Asterly to touch him but he wasn't quite sure what he'd _needed_ so badly as to beg for it. He rolled over under the covers and pressed his face hard down into the mattress, whining to himself when he remembered that he'd been gushing out slick like he was made of it. He was certain that he'd ruined the velvet of the settee. He was certain that he'd gotten it all over Asterly.

_How am I ever supposed to be able to look at anyone ever again?_

He absolutely dreaded the concept of getting out of bed and having to look his brother in the eyes. Surely Julian knew what he'd done. The idea sent horrible waves of guilt and shame through him and he wept under the sheets and quilts, still clutching at Asterly's scent.

“Mr. Hainsley?”

He slowly pulled down the covers to peer out at Miss Calloway.

“Are you ready for your supper?”

Sniffing and wiping at his reddened eyes, he answered in the affirmative although he made no effort to sit up, letting the quilts sit on his head pathetically.

“I brought you some haddock, Mr. Hainsley. Since you're feeling better, it should be gentle on your stomach and it should assist your appetite. I've surmised that you should be perked up by tomorrow morning.” She arranged everything for him and when he poked his head out from under the covers, she took a step back and put her hands together. “If you will permit me, Mr. Hainsley?”

Sitting up and wiping his eyes again, he nodded.

“His Grace insisted to the Earl that you were unmarred.” She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the door was still shut tight. “If that is not the case, I pray that you should tell me. It is extremely rare for a stress heat to bear pups but if there is but a slight chance, I should have you sipping rue for the next few days.”

 _His Grace._ Hollow felt his face lose color. _He's a Duke._

“Mr. Hainsley?”

“Nuh-No,” he stuttered. “I...that is...he did not...” He wanted to say “take liberties” but he wasn't sure if that was the case or not. He was fairly certain that _he_ was the one who had taken liberties. “I do not need anything.”

“If you are certain.” She passed him a glance of warning.

“Thank you, Miss Calloway.”

She smiled, obviously relieved. “Lady Netherfield called upon you earlier this afternoon. She left some very beautiful roses for you.” She added softly, “Several gentlemen have sent you notes. Should you like to see them?”

“No,” he groaned, leaning against his pillows. “I am nothing but a _tart_ Miss Calloway.”

She giggled and sat on the edge of his bed, reaching her hand out as a request for the treasured cravat in his loose grip. He handed it to her and she raised it to her nose, scenting it daintily. “A beautiful fragrance,” she noted. “From His Grace?”

“Yes.” He flung his arm over his eyes. “I wish to go back to Westbrooke and drown in the pond. I'll even go to Belcourt and marry Edwin. Anything to get away from this nightmare of a London season. The ton is probably obsessed with my fit, speculating and posturing over it. If they knew what I _did_...” He lifted his arm, peering at Miss Calloway with his heart in his throat. “ _Please_ tell me they don't know what I did.”

She laughed again, taking another sip of scent from the white fabric in her hand. “No, Mr. Hainsley. You were quite the hero in the tale, actually. I imagine you'll be lauded in every drawing room until spring is over at the latest.” She tossed her head dramatically. “You were trapped like a rat, thrown against the wall, about to be _ravished_ by an unnamed gentleman.”

“ _Unnamed?_ ” he squeaked. “Why does _Kentworth_ get to be _unnamed_ while I have to have _my_ good name on everyone's lips?”

“Oh,” she pulled a face and waved her free hand, “The privilege of an Alpha, I suppose.” Her eyes flashed, “Anyway, Mr. Hainsley, you were about to be _ravished_ and you daringly made your escape, incapacitating your assailant and while the crowd drew in awe, you dashed away into the night, mysteriously disappearing until your brother found you and took you home.” She was beaming and laughing, reveling in what she thought was a perfect tale of intrigue. She bobbed her head. “They speculated that you were off collecting yourself and that you might take a few nights away from parties to give yourself some time to recuperate. Whoever writes those articles must be quite smitten with you, Mr. Hainsley.”

“Ugh,” he groaned again, pressing his head back into his pillows. “Miss Calloway, I made a total fool out of myself. I let Asterly scent me. While I was in heat. I did...I did _more_ that than. I _ruined_ his settee.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Lovie, I've ruined dozens of settees.”

There was a pause where they both simply stared at each other and then simultaneously burst into fits of laughter.

The next morning, he was feeling much better and after exchanging a few well-timed jokes with Miss Calloway, he felt ready to perhaps face at least Lady Westbrooke, if not his brother. As fate would have it, the two of them were together breaking fast in the dining room when Hollow entered, both of them looking upward and Julian standing when he entered the room.

“Hollow,” Julian exclaimed, “We didn't expect to see you. Are you feeling quite well?”

He flushed a bit and made a slight bow. “I am, thank you my Lord. I was just a tad peaked is all.”

Julian snorted and gave a hard laugh. “Peaked, he says.” He looked at Ophelia who gave him a warning glance before he cleared his throat. “Uh...of course, Hollow. Please, sit down. I'll gather you a plate from the sideboard. No need to worry yourself.”

Hollow let his brows furrow while he moved forward. “Sit down, Julian, I'm not an ailing aunt; I'm your brother.” He got his breakfast and sat next to Lady Westbrooke, waiting until Julian had sat awkwardly before stating plainly, “I suppose I should have been more diligent. I've made a fool of myself.”

Ophelia's soft voice stopped him. “Quite contrary, the ton is fascinated by you.”

“I don't want the ton to be fascinated by me, my Lady. I want to go home.”

Julian sighed. “You haven't lost anything, Hollow.”

He snapped back, glaring at his brother with indignation. “My _dignity_ , Julian. I was scented in a hallway and I'll never be able to look at Asterly in the face ever again in my life. If he should be present at a party, I should turn tail and run.”

Lady Westbrooke put her hand on his sleeve. “He doesn't deserve any of your attentions anyway, Hollow. You don't have to look at him. He's a lecherous fool if there ever was one.”

“ _He's_ the lecherous fool?” Hollow asked, incredulously. “I _begged_ him to kiss me. I begged him for a lot of things.”

Ophelia's pretty cheeks and ears reddened.

“He did not acquiesce, if you were wondering.” He shoveled eggs into his mouth, filling it before he could admit to anything else.

Julian was trying to hold back laughter. “I don't know why you're more upset about Asterly than you are about Kentworth. I should imagine you should be howling mad that he dared treat you with such disrespect. I'd teach him a few manners if you wished, but I think you already did much for your own defense. As for the Duke, I don't think you should be concerned at all.”

Hollow wanted to smack his head on the table. “You must be daft.”

Julian actually laughed aloud. “You've had your nose buried in his cravat. He gave you his scent. If you'd like him for a husband, Hollow, I daresay you only need ask. He's probably pawing himself every night thinking of you.”

Ophelia tilted her head at her husband, her entire face and neck blushed a deep scarlet.

Julian sat back, still chuckling. “My apologies, Opie, but you and Hollow can handle plain-speaking every so often. You're not pups anymore and Hollow _has_ to know when an Alpha has an interest in him.”

“And so why is it that I have no notes from him? No flowers? He has not called asking after me?”

His brother scoffed but could provide no answer.

He didn't want the Duke's affections. He didn't really want _anyone's_ affections. Despite the fact that he'd very much enjoyed himself a few times this season, he was starting to see the main issue he was to have with choosing any mate who was not Edwin. He knew nothing of their character. Kentworth had been very polite, even to the point of being tiresome. Lady Netherfield's approach had been unique and effective, opening herself up to his scrutiny immediately, venturing plainly into the territory of trying to determine if their scents were at all compatible. He was certainly not averse to her but what of her personality? Was Kentworth right in that she, as well as the rest of them, would rut him without a thought?

_Asterly didn't._

Well the answer to that was clear. The Duke wasn't interested in him. If he had been, Hollow would have been drinking rue tea every morning and evening for a week. Julian had to be mistaken. The Duke was just being polite in giving him his scent so that he would not have to be restrained. With a calming Alpha scent to pine over during a heat, it was supposed to be less agonizing to spend the time alone. Asterly wasn't any different from the others, in fact, if Ophelia's reaction to him was anything to go by, she clearly thought him _worse._

That afternoon, he and Ophelia were in the drawing room, Ophelia practicing a piece on the piano forte and he sketching on a spare piece of parchment just a picture from memory. It was just his tiny fishing boat, floating out in the middle of what he recalled to be Westbrooke's pond. He was just scribbling in his own little boots settled on the hull as if he were napping at the bottom of it when the housekeeper announced that Lady Hayworth had come to call. Ophelia picked up her skirts and moved to a proper seat, urging Hollow to take his feet off the decorative table next to his chair before their guest was brought in.

Lady Hayworth was positively beaming, her green eyes as sharp as ever when she fluttered into the room with deep blue feathers in her hair that coincided with her voluminous indigo skirts which swished and swayed as she willed them. “It is absolutely lovely to see you, Lady Westbrooke,” she twittered.

“Some tea, my Lady?” Hollow asked, putting down his sketch.

“If it's not an inconvenience, of course,” she happily responded. “I was hoping I had not caught you at an awkward time, Mr. Hainsley. Dreadful, the news.”

“Oh,” he replied half-heartedly. “Quite.”

When their tea had been brought in with a few small cakes, Lady Hayworth continued. “This is precisely the reason I came to call, you see. I had very much hoped that you three would be able to make it to my garden party this Saturday and the accompanying dinner, of course. I realized that Kentworth had been invited and so I went out of my way to _un_ invite him. All very unpleasant, but what else is one to do? I can't have a roused Alpha off ruining my guests and scaring off my favorites.” She passed Hollow a surreptitious glance that he wasn't sure how to interpret. “I do hope you'll be able to attend.”

Hollow and Ophelia traded glances, the Countess tilting her head slightly to show that it was up to him to decide.

He cleared his throat. “Of course, my Lady. We wouldn't miss it.”

“Splendid,” she replied with a satisfied little shake of her shoulders. Her closed-mouth smile was suspicious, Hollow decided, guarding himself. It was as if she were holding a flower in her mouth—a flower or a secret.

For a second, he wanted to ask her if Asterly would be there but he didn't. She would become curious as to why he had asked and no doubt the woman was deft at prying information out of certain sources. That much was clear from the way she'd known it had been Kentworth who'd cornered him. There were enough guests at the dinner that night that any small tidbits that hadn't been in the Society Papers would have most definitely made their way around the whole of the ton anyway. As much as the anonymous writers of said rags didn't want to admit to the gentleman's name, the scrumptious details were not lost on anyone who really wanted to know them.

He made a pact with himself that no matter what, he was going to get through this season and he was going to get back to Westbrooke with his virginity intact. As Lady Hayworth sipped her tea, contentedly chattering with Ophelia about the courses she was thinking about for her dinner, Hollow stared down at the sketch he'd made, daydreaming about those overcast English skies and the way he could just see the tops of the trees at the edges of the pond as he stared up from the bottom of his rowboat. He imagined the birdsong, the whisper of the wind across the rolling fields, and the distant sound of Rhineholt's hooves thundering through his pen, itching for a long ride.

He sighed. The end of this horrid season couldn't come soon enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To respond to the comment about how Morgan's widowed Omegas don't get pregnant: Tea. It exists, it works. _Don't do it._ Rue can be very dangerous to ingest if you do not know what you're doing.
> 
> That said, I hope you'll all follow along on our garden party adventure.
> 
> Make sure to comment if you have any thoughts about the chapter that you'd like to share/bring up.


	9. Chapter 9

Morgan thought about simply not going. He could tell Bickett to turn the damned carriage around and go back home instead of subjecting himself to that beautiful, cloying Omega scent that had haunted his dreams. He blinked slowly, aware that he must look an absolute fright with the dark purplish rings lining his lower lids. He hadn't been able to sleep for more than an hour or two at a time, waking to discover himself painfully hard and aching as if he were a silly heated Omega. He'd rutted against his silk sheets once or twice but the faded scent of that beautiful boy was lingering in his house. He could scarce bring himself to even go into the drawing room even after he'd discarded the settee and had Bickett do his best to scrub the slick out of the carpet. His worst fear was that it was all fantasy. That he wasn't actually smelling the remnants of that night and that the young Mr. Hainsley had actually _captured_ him.

That his boyish fantasy was becoming a reality was meant to be a _pleasant_ feeling—not this hideous, unnerving bout of sleeplessness that had put him on the edge of his sanity. His mind kept filtering images and sensations into the forefront of his thoughts. Those harsh pants, those delectable yelps, that intense gaze and of course, of _course_ the way his bared throat had felt against Morgan's nose and his lips.

He groaned, closing his eyes and then opening them when the image of the way Hainsley had licked his lips in the carriage floated back to him. He willed himself to just stop thinking about it. Just for this garden party. Just long enough that he could get through an afternoon and an evening where he had insisted on sitting next to the boy whose memory vexed him. He felt like a complete fool, speculating over how Hainsley had come to think of him after his being so forward as to give him his cravat, to let him bury his nose in that concentrated scent for the duration of his heat.

 _He_ _must think I'm an absolute barbarian._

Bickett opened the door to the carriage and the two of them locked eyes, making no movements. The valet's expression said it all.

“Bickett,” he said flatly. “You're permitted.”

“Your Grace, you do know he'll be able to scent your frustration. You may wish to call upon him at his home rather than have this interaction at a garden affair.”

He closed his eyes and leaned backwards. “You and I both know that I'm the only reason this party is being held and that Lady Hayworth would never forgive me if I were to send my regrets. I've never been a coward before and I'm not inclined to become one because of some odd...” he frowned, opening his eyes. “Infatuation.”

“Perhaps you should consider courting him, Your Grace. Although it is not your custom, you may find yourself...erm...” The valet let the side of his mouth turn up. “Engaged.”

He narrowed his eyes at the valet and muttered plainly, “You've gone mad.”

_I've gone mad._

“Stark raving,” Bickett grinned.

When he finally made it inside through to the back garden, he found Lady Hayworth standing on the terrace with her hands on the railing not quite where Morgan had first seen Hainsley dumping the contents of his stomach down into the bushes. He stood next to her and waited. It didn't take long for her to snap at him.

“Ah. The man of the hour. He deigns to join us.” She cocked a brow in irritation. “Two hours late and looking as though he was up the night with one of his widows.”

“If it were only the case,” he replied.

She leaned toward him and hissed. “I made certain that your quarry was here, the least you could do is show up to stake your claim of him. Why do you smell so damned nervous? What do you have to be nervous about?” She sniffed and turned to see where Hainsley had gone. “He's over with Netherfield, who, by the by, is growing on him by the minute so if you have a mind to kiss him, you'd best butt your way in.” She paused, pulling out her fan and fluttering toward her face. Suddenly, she stopped and whipped her head about toward him. “ _Nervous._ ”

“Am I not allowed to be apprehensive about something?”

“You've fallen in _love_ with him, haven't you?” She laughed incredulously. “By God, you're absolutely impossible. You _would_ fall in love with the first virgin you ever waltzed with.”

“Hardly the first,” he scoffed. “I was young once too, I'll have you know.”

“Fine,” she said. “Then just kiss him and get him out of your system.” She grinned like the devil she was. “If you _can_.”

“Perhaps,” he said a little hard, “my intentions toward Mr. Hainsley have been altered since the night of your ball.” He ignored the way she stared at him with indignation. “And perhaps I shall be leaving him perfectly alone this evening.”

“You will _not_ ,” she seethed.

Morgan gave her a large, toothy grin as he tapped down the stairs toward the garden. “You're right, my Lady. I will not.” Leaving her to dwell on the connotations of his statement, he made his way through the English garden without even once looking at the lovely spring blooms that were opening. He had his mind set and he was not going to rest until he was able to get this fluttering strange feeling out of his chest and his gullet. He reached the point where the youngest Hainsley was chatting with Netherfield, flanked on either side by the Earl and his testy sister-in-law, the Countess of Westbrooke.

He gave a regal bow as the Earl and Hainsley returned it and the Countess curtsied politely. “Lady Westbrooke, Lady Netherfield, Mr. Hainsley,” he said seriously. “I do hope I haven't interrupted something.”

“Not at all, Your Grace,” Lady Westbrooke said coolly, pulling out her fan but not opening it, tapping against her palm as if impatient. “In fact, your timing was more than divine. We were just discussing the ways that certain men have taken liberties among the ton.”

He let that one slide off his back and smiled graciously even as he was observing how Hainsley appeared to be ready to bolt. “I assume in specifics you once or twice could have referred to me.” He chuckled despite not feeling like doing so.

Netherfield came to his rescue admirably, lifting up her punch and sipping it. “We are not all devoid of our sins among the flocks of Omegas, Your Grace, I assure you.” She and Hainsley passed each other a glance and Morgan felt his heart squeeze in his chest. “Though, to be fair to His Grace, we were actually discussing the particular cad who had the audacity to scent our poor Mr. Hainsley.”

Morgan let out a light scoff. “A young buck. I daresay I heard the fool was nearly castrated.” He gave a slight bow to Hainsley whose cheeks were barely showing a bit of pink from his presence. “I commend you, dearest Mr. Hainsley, for putting an Alpha where he belongs.”

The Omega's voice was barely a murmur, his scent filled with apprehension. “And where, pray tell, is that, exactly?”

He replied with his eyes half-lidded, his voice quiet. To the two outside parties, the response meant nothing out of the ordinary, but between the two of them, Morgan hoped he'd placed a promise. “ _At your feet._ ”

* * *

Hollow had thought he could have smashed the glass of punch in his hand when he saw Asterly tapping down the stairs toward him, but now? He felt his face getting hot as the Duke casually stared at him with those sultry golden eyes, slipping out those careless words that sounded very bizarrely like an _apology_. He flitted through those memories trying to find anything that Asterly could have possibly been apologizing for and couldn't find it. The Duke _hadn't_ kissed him. He hadn't done anything untoward in the slightest. It had been Hollow who'd made everything into a mess—so why was Asterly the one apologizing?

Just as he was considering escaping the conversation by excusing himself, Asterly did the unthinkable and asked him if he'd like to take a turn around the garden with him. His gloved outstretched hand was in front of him and he was awaiting an answer and Hollow felt his heart shoot straight up into his throat. Before he could look to Ophelia to rescue him from this hideous embarrassment, the soft breeze carried the familiar spice of the Alpha and gifted it straight to Hollow's beleaguered brain. Faint as it was, the images came anyway. A pine and birch forest. Dapples and beams of light glimmering through trees over a dirt path through the woods. The curls of white birch bark at his feet, picked up and whirled in a strong summer wind.

He put out his hand, his fingers barely touching Asterly's, allowing him to lead him away from his two companions. When they were a short distance away, the Duke allowed Hollow his hand back, clasping his own behind his back as they walked together, saying nothing until he was sure they were not to be eavesdropped upon.

Asterly spoke softly, his tone nothing like that of a cock-sure Alpha. “I was certain you would refuse me for a moment. I am sorry if I have made you feel at all uncomfortable, Mr. Hainsley. I merely wished to apologize for my behavior and to impress upon you that it was not my intention to place you into an awkward position.”

Hollow was thoroughly befuddled. “Forgive me,” he nervously muttered, “But I seem unable to recollect what you could possibly have need to apologize for. If you've forgotten, Your Grace, _I_ am the one who acted a fool.” His stomach was doing flips. “From where I stand...” he sighed through his nose to ground himself. “From where I stand, you were the perfect gentleman. I have thoroughly shamed myself in your company and I cannot possibly imagine how you could ever think yourself at fault.”

To Hollow's great surprise, Asterly chuckled, his tired golden eyes appearing to hold a shine of relief. “Then allow me to take your nervousness and stow it,” he said, quirking a brow. “Though I cannot forget that night.”

Hollow felt a lump forming in his throat. All he wanted to do was forget that night. The humiliation of being so wanton and shameless in a rampant fever was something he simply could not bear. “I beg you to forget it,” Hollow murmured, casting a glance straight into those golden eyes. “I can't bear to think upon it. I have never in my life been so...” He couldn't finish, his voice gone.

Asterly stopped walking, having led them to one of the far flung corners of the garden under a swag of what looked like a grape vine. It was public but also relatively secluded. The Duke gazed at him with patient concerned eyes. “Mr. Hainsley, you've nothing to be embarrassed about.” He reached out and captured Hollow's fingers, bringing the backs of them up to his lips and pressing them with a lingering kiss. “Had you not enchanted me with your waltz, I should have paid you no mind in the street. Or perhaps worse. I have never pretended to be overly honorable, Mr. Hainsley, but there is something about the way you dance.” A glimmer of amusement flashed through his tired eyes. “Or perhaps the way you vomit.”

Hollow swallowed several times, feeling frustrated tears blooming behind his eyes. “What are you trying to say to me, Your Grace?”

“I'm trying to ask you if you might accept my request to court you.” His eyes flitted to the ground and then up again into Hollow's gaze. “I should very much like to keep your company.”

He could have sobbed. As a Duke, Asterly had no imperative at all to request his courtship from the Earl and the decision was left to him alone. He was not prepared. His heart burned. “I...I have to admit, Your Grace, this is quite shocking.” He looked at his own hand, his gloved fingers still held gently in Asterly's. “There was no intimation that you were interested in me. No notes...no flowers...”

“Forgive me,” Asterly murmured. “I fought myself assiduously but I have found I cannot bear this wakefulness you've cast over me. I am...” his voice dropped to a whisper. “ _haun_ _ted_ by you.” He paused and his voice shook very lightly when he continued. “Mr. Hainsley, I place myself at your feet. At your mercy.”

Hollow studied the Duke, entirely unsure of what he really wanted. On one hand, he wanted to cry out that he would never accept any courtships. On the other, he was curious. Saying yes to a courtship was nothing like saying yes to a proposal but it was something that could have dissuaded other suitors from calling upon him. There was a ping of recognition in his brain. _Dissuade other suitors._ He stared at Asterly in a silent awe, suddenly realizing the power the Duke's name would hold.

With a careful glance one way and then the other, Hollow gently extracted his hand from Asterly's fingers and tentatively grasped his lapels, pulling the puzzled Duke downward while simultaneously standing on his tiptoes. He let the tip of his nose brush against Asterly's ear when he closed his eyes and intimately pulled in a deep breath of the Alpha's scent, soaking in every flickering moment, memory and image that it gave him. He gave a breathy whisper and felt Asterly shudder.

“ _I should like to see you at my feet, Your Grace._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hollow, you manipulative little shit.
> 
> Next chapter: Edwin finally shows up in London?
> 
> Comments, concerns, thoughts, feelings: You know where they go and you know I love them.


	10. Chapter 10

Morgan ran his finger along the rim of his glass while he sat at a lone table in the crowded London club. His cheek was in his hand and his eyes were focused at the amber liquid that remained untasted. He'd thought that the taught bowstring sensation in his body would finally be relieved when he'd been accepted as a proper suitor for the young and beautiful Omega that had captured his thoughts, becoming that perpetual obsession that simultaneously gave him reason and suffocated him. He'd been wrong. Knowing he was able to call upon the boy whenever he wished was not freeing in the slightest and felt even more of a burden than the mere obsession of him had been. He felt lost, as if he'd somehow stumbled unknowingly over the edge of some precipice he'd known had been waiting for him to slip. He cursed under his breath and glared into his glass, angry first at himself and then at Lady Hayworth for putting that _word_ in his head.

_You've fallen in love with him._

How could he have avoided it? After Hainsley had accepted his advance and he'd led them both back to the crowd, they chatted amiably with the others, hinting at nothing. Lady Hayworth had been extremely diligent in the order of seating for dinner. Morgan had been able to talk with Hainsley the entire night, learning of his passion for reading, his favorite horse, and how he filled his days with teaching himself new things and reading every book in Westbrooke's library. He was a lovely dinner partner, emphatic in all his assertions and a wonderful listener—though truly, Morgan had wished Hainsley would have never stopped speaking, his voice a gentle sound that was pleasing to the ear. He'd found that he'd enjoyed himself immensely and that spending time with the little Omega was fast becoming high on his list of essentials. 

Whites was bustling with patrons and jolly Beta girls serving drinks, their bodices low and their hips swaying. The candlelight flickered around him and reflected, distorted in his glass while he continued to move his finger around the rim, his brain muddled and foggy from his lack of sleep. He sighed, recalling the way Hainsley had brought him down and scented him so fastidiously. He'd been so exact. It was just the thing he'd expected an Omega to do. Especially an Omega who was not marriage-minded.

The table next to him was rowdy and he flitted his eyes over to it, finding a few peers laughing and carrying on while they cavorted with one of the Beta serving girls who'd stopped by to refill their glasses. Two vicounts, Griggsby and Halwill, along with one Baron, Rainton, were sitting with Marksdown, laughing and growling at each other over the pretty Beta's affections. He tried to drown them out but their voices were too loud, too _Alpha_ to ignore, even for him.

They carried on for a while until all of a sudden the girl was gone and all four of them had suddenly quieted. Morgan's gaze was drawn again to find them all leaning across the table, their heads together as if they were all looking at some small thing that was meant to be a secret. One of them glanced up toward the entrance and Morgan followed his gaze.

“Penberth!” Halwill yelled across the club. “You son of a bitch. Come here.”

Morgan sighed again but this time took a heavy swallow of his brandy. He watched the man stroll his way over, his back straight and his demeanor that of a man who wasn't tortured the way Morgan was. He looked down into his glass again, wondering how he ever thought he could have won over the little Omega when he had a younger more honorable option. The blonde, handsome to-be Baron didn't sit at the table with Halwill even as he was told to.

Penberth's voice wasn't Alpha-toned and would have been easily missed within the din but Morgan could hear him if he pricked his ears.

“You lads have got to be the loudest table in the place, I'll have you know.”

“Sit down, you blasted idiot,” Griggsby replied. “You came to London late and you're missing all the fun. The parties have been terribly grand. You missed the Hayworth ball.”

“Yes,” Halwill replied. “You would have been able to get Hainsley to dance with you at least.”

Morgan bent over even further, his breath coming quicker at the mention of the small Omega. He could feel his leg start to bounce under the table with supreme impatience. Although in full view of the other table, he was unnoticed and glad of it. He watched while Penberth finally did sit down, accepting a drink from one of the passing girls.

“Did my cousin not dance at all?”

“Oh, he did,” Rainton scoffed. “With Kentworth.”

Marksdown cleared his throat. “He had a waltz.”

“A waltz?” Penberth sounded peeved.

“With Asterly.”

There was a murmur of agreement that welled up from the table's other occupants. All except Penberth who had just heard it for the first time. His reaction was edged.

“What could _Aste_ _rly_ want with my cousin? He kisses _girls_ in the bushes.”

Halwill's shrug was evident in his voice. “We _all_ kiss girls in the bushes. But if you had the chance to kiss Hainsley, you can't tell me you wouldn't take it.”

There was another murmur of agreement.

Penberth sounded distinctly nonplussed. “If you've all forgotten, I don't lose my damned mind over Omegas like you all do. My prerogative is not to scent him or to kiss him. My intent is to make sure he doesn't end up marrying some knot-driven fool. Or worse, get himself ruined at the hands of some misguided or malintentioned ne'er-do-well who thinks a bondmark will force the Earl to marry him to his despoiler.”

“How do you intend to stop him?” Marksdown asked.

Penberth's answer was clipped and sure. “I intend to marry him. He is too inexperienced to be able to navigate a London season and I fear he'll find himself in a compromising situation sooner rather than later and I have little to no faith in the Alpha gentlemen of London.” He paused then continued. “That is not meant to be offensive toward you gentlemen but by Halwill's own admission, Asterly isn't the only Alpha who hunts for scents in dark gardens.”

Morgan sat up straight and then leaned backwards, putting out his legs and sipping from his glass like a Duke should have been. He used a hard tone to capture the Beta's attention.

“You would be right in that, Penberth. I'm not the only Alpha out chasing skirts. But I'm of the mind that your cousin can very well navigate a season and can very well protect himself from anyone who intends to ruin him.” He passed his golden gaze over each of the men who had only just noticed that they'd been talking about him within earshot. Marksdown's expression was priceless when he met his friend's eyes. “As we happen to all be aware of what happened to Kentworth, I believe we should all be on our toes around the spirited Mr. Hainsley. I, for one, find him extremely intriguing.”

Penberth was giving him a subtle look of disgust as he spoke and replied with a polite but stiff inflection. “And may I inquire as to what business you have with my cousin, _Your Grace_?”

“Business?” He smirked. “None.” He chuckled and finished his brandy, clicking the glass down on the table and standing up, towering over the table of Lords with a smug grin. “It's all a _pleasure_ , Mr. Penberth. I assure you.” With that, he turned away and walked to the door, collecting his jacket and hat before he left. He waited until he was in his coach and the horses had started clicking down the street before he slumped in his seat, his grin fading and then disappearing.

_Damn Penberth._

Hainsley's cousin most likely would have unfettered access to him. He would easily convince the little Omega that the Duke was an unsuitable choice. That his past transgressions should be held against him when it came to the consideration of him as a potential suitor. He put the heel of his palm against his forehead. He'd been so stupid and it was only coming to him now. It served him damnably right to have a Beta as his rival and to have him be so much _better_ of a choice. A damned _Beta_ could steal his Omega from him and it could happen right under his nose. Morgan took in a deep steeling breath and sat up in his seat, pushing his back against the rich leather upholstery in his coach.

_Stop acting the victim, you love-struck fool. You're an Alpha. Act like one._

Hainsley was the Omega that he'd been dreaming of since he was young and bold and fresh to the London season. His father had thought him a romantic fool, sneaking away with laughing Omegas, scenting them with abandon at their country estates and in the wildflowers of fields after picnics. He'd had a very distinctive expression when he was scolding his only son about how many kisses he'd been stealing. He'd been adamant that an Omega's heart was not something to be toyed with. They were sensitive creatures, prone to becoming overly attached to Alphas who paid them too much mind. To gentlemen who kissed them behind the birches or hidden away among the hollyhock.

There had been another boy once. Morgan had been but twenty and the boy was just sixteen. He'd presented that year but he had spoken of it like it was expected, telling Morgan that he'd known since he was a pup that he was going to be different, that he was never going to inherit his estate. That he was going to be an Omega. He'd had sandy blonde hair that fluttered in the wind when their families had gone to the beach together. Morgan couldn't remember his name—the detail lost forever to the tides of his memory. He only remembered that his scent had been sweet and his lips had been soft and he'd been very willing to kiss the son of a Duke. Morgan had not awakened to pine over him, nor had he kissed him ever again. The boy had been courted and married to one of Morgan's distant cousins and had gone to live at an estate in the south.

He hadn't expected another boy. Male Omegas weren't rare by any means, they just weren't prevalent in high society. When one didn't marry beneath his class, it made it especially difficult to find one and for this one—only the second he'd ever shown an interest in—to be the Omega that haunted him; it made everything so difficult. And he had nobody to blame but himself. If he hadn't kissed Ophelia. If he hadn't kissed so many of them.

_Edwin may not have much faith in Alphas during the season but..._

But he _hadn't_ kissed Hainsley. Even during his heat. Westbrooke knew that, even if Penberth didn't. He quite possibly had the Earl as a witness to his honor—or at least an ambivalent bystander to it.

As much as his father had warned him that an Omega's heart was soft and pliant and took in an Alpha much too willingly, he felt as if every warning his father had ever given should have been directed at Morgan's heart. He felt as if he'd been invaded. The worst part about it was that he wasn't even sure of whether or not he could have known earlier. Whether he could have possibly been able to have pined over the boy as early as just after Lady Hayworth's ball. He'd neglected to scent him, even a passing whiff as they waltzed. He'd wasted precious time by acting the gentleman and where had it gotten him?

The coach stopped and he fair flew into the house, bellowing in that heavy Alpha voice for Bickett who practically condensed from the air. He sighed, his shoulders drooping considerably. “Bickett.”

“Your Grace?”

“I'm in love with him.”

Bickett's face was impassive but his silence was enough to note that the valet had been perfectly aware of the situation at hand.

He shuffled his way into the drawing room, staring at the empty spot where the settee had been placed. Bickett followed. He spoke again. “I didn't even kiss him. I haven't even _kissed_ him and he could be stolen from me by that _Beta_ , Penberth.”

“Perhaps,” Bickett stated, “I shall bring the settee back to the drawing room from the attic?”

He cast his valet a bewildered glance.

Bickett shrugged. “Perhaps it is good luck?”

Luck. If it was going to be merely luck that would keep Hainsley out of the hands of a Beta, he would need as much of it as he could get.

“Bickett, are you any good at love notes?”

“Your Grace, if I may, it can be only proper if your notes to Mr. Hainsley are produced by your own...” Bickett searched for the right word and then smiled. “Soul.”

He stared at his valet with his mouth slightly agape. “I am doomed to failure.” Having made the statement, he went upstairs and stripped nude, tossing and turning in his sheets until he could stand himself no longer. He lit a candle and moved to the small desk in his bedchamber and, still naked, dipped his pen in the inkwell and started scribbling in the soft flickering candle light. By the time morning had come, he had drooled over his arms, having fallen asleep next to dozens of scrawled notes, absolutely none of them sufficient. When Bickett wandered in, he was sitting up, staring down at the mess he'd made with heavy-lidded eyes and a sour disposition. Without speaking to his valet, he got up and flopped himself back into his bed, pulling the bedclothes over his head with the intent to spend the rest of the day in misery.

Perhaps it would have been better for his heart if, when he had asked, Hainsley had simply refused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The playlist I use to write this story was really on point and Morgan just _had_ to admit the "L" word to himself.
> 
> Next: Everyone gets a turn to yell at Hollow for his allowing Asterly to court him. And Bickett comes in clutch.


	11. Chapter 11

Hollow was in good spirits the next day, waking early and heading down to breakfast. As the first one there, he had the pick of the sideboard and he filled a plate high with his favorites, humming a light tune while he sat down and began eating. He set his feet up on the chair next to him and reflected on how he'd turned his misfortune into what could only promise to be a fairly decent strategy to avoid marriage. Likely, with Alphas being so competitive, some would not give up so easily but he at least could cut out most of the lower ranking gentlemen and all the Betas who'd been keen to stick their necks out with the chance of romance. It would be well enough. He just had to make sure he kept the Duke at an arm's length.

Although, he thought while he bit into a piece of buttered toast, keeping the Duke at any distance might turn out to be nothing but a dream. He would have to be very industrious to make sure he could not be cornered. If Asterly were to catch him in a dark hallway—would Hollow be able to do the same to him as he had with Kentworth? Would Asterly ever say such hideous words to him? One side of his head told him that any Alpha was capable of saying such things and the other side of his mind refuted it on the basis of how deeply Asterly's affections seemed to run. He shoved the rest of his toast into his mouth in an attempt to push that idea out of his head. He was not going to get trapped by him or any other Alpha. Not this season. Not again.

Ophelia came into the room like a breeze and Hollow stood, bowing to her in deference. He did not greet her properly as his mouth was filled with toast but she seemed to know that, laughing at the way he'd awkwardly stumbled as he got up. Her white morning dress just brushed the floor as she gracefully moved over to the sideboard after greeting him. After he'd sat back down, she wasted no time in admonishing him.

“You are an absolute savage, Hollow. How do you think your future mate is going to feel if you put your feet up on all his good furniture?”

“I don't intend on having a future mate.” He smiled to himself. “I'll string one or two along, of course, to make you and Julian happy. But I'll be free to put my feet up on any furniture I want at Westbrooke.” He merrily popped some egg into his mouth.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Take care that you do not string along any Alphas who cannot take rejection. They may seem devil-may-care but truly they are quite volatile.”

“No,” he laughed. “This one is not as temperamental as some. Perhaps it is his age. Perhaps they mellow out as they get older.” He picked a ripe cherry off a stem with his teeth.

“You have one in mind?” She sat across from him, arranging her skirts while she looked at him curiously.

“I've already agreed to allow him to court me.” He allowed a wide close-mouthed smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “He's amiable enough and I think I'd be content to waste some time going to the Opera with him. Maybe a ride or two in an open carriage. Nothing scandalous, of course.” He laughed. “And not too many, either. Not enough to make him think I'll marry him.”

Lady Westbrooke appeared unamused. “Hollow, you shouldn't waste a gentleman's time. He could be spending his season with someone who actually _wished_ to marry him. If you were going to try to frighten away other potential suitors, you should just do so with Mr. Penberth. He's in town as of last night and I'm positive he would love to take you on a stroll in the park.”

“Oh, my Lady,” he smirked, “You know as well as I that no Alpha is going to give up his quest for me because he saw me in the park with a Beta, no matter how imposing his stature. Especially a currently untitled cousin of mine. He is no threat at all. You know I need someone who is going to make it easier for me to navigate balls. Someone who'll be the tiniest bit possessive. Like how Julian was for you when you didn't want any other attentions from the Betas.”

She raised a brow. “And who, perchance, is this odd fellow you've described to me? An Alpha who is seasoned, reasonable, and only the tiniest bit possessive? As if there were ever such a creature.”

“Asterly,” he stated plainly with a nod that was more to himself than to Ophelia.

She stared at him as though he'd grown a second head. After he'd put another piece of toast in his mouth, she started in on him. “Hollow. Absolutely not. Asterly is not a suitable choice. You will simply have to choose another. There are plenty that you could have chosen. Netherfield is _obviously_ interested in you and she is perfectly acceptable. She is doting, careful, attentive, and she very much likes you. Why would you _ever_ choose _Asterly_?”

He munched his toast and gazed upon her with a flat expression until she was finished. His response was equally as even as his expression. “Naturally, to hear your protests, my Lady. They give me such joy.”

“Hollow, I am being perfectly serious.”

“You and everyone else, I am to be sure.”

It was then that Julian made his appearance, strolling into the dining room and to the sideboard. He did not even have a plate in his hands before he was accosted by his wife.

“Julian. Your brother has given permission to Asterly to court him.”

The Earl did not bother to turn around, pausing only just a moment before he took in a deep breath and said nothing, filling his plate from the sideboard before he turned around and gave Ophelia a deliberately placating close-mouthed smile. He took his seat next to her and took a bite of toast, swallowing it and wiping his hands on his cloth napkin. Only after he had the morsel in his belly did he address the issue.

“My dearest Ophelia,” he said softly. “What...do you want me to do about it?”

Her eyes opened wide and she gestured to Hollow with an open hand. “Your brother wants the _dastardly Duke_ of Asterly to court him so he can use his name to avoid other suitors.”

Julian chuckled and looked up at Hollow with one brow quirked. “Hollow. That's not very nice.”

When that seemed to be the extent of Julian's chiding, Ophelia drew up, looking a bit like an indignant bird. “No. It's not nice and it's not intelligent either. Asterly is a known predator. He will take you into a garden and _ruin_ you, Hollow.”

Hollow laughed. “He only kissed you, my Lady.”

“ _Only._ ” She sniffed. “You say it until you realize that you could have had your first kiss with someone who truly deserved to have it.”

Julian scoffed, “Opie, don't be ridiculous. I didn't think you ruined for having been kissed before I met you. The idea is laughable. Hollow isn't some fresh-faced girl, either. He's twenty-three for god's sake, and he's a man. Let him get kissed if he wants to get kissed.”

Ophelia stood up with a huff. “Julian, you are a terrible protector. You are being a horrible brother. You should put some limitations on him. He is an _Omega_ , he's not a Beta, he's vulnerable and he needs your help.”

Julian leaned back in his chair and put his toast down, staring at his wife with a very Alpha expression that forced her to sit back down in her seat, looking almost demure. When she was sitting again with her eyes on the table and her lower lip between her teeth, he spoke softly, as he always did, his eyes then settling on Hollow. “Bartholomew.” He only ever used Hollow's full name when he was about to say something he thought was important. Hollow took his feet off the chair and sat up straight. “I will not stop you. But whatever happens, you must accept all the consequences to be a result of your own actions. You're not a child and I expect you to realize all the possible implications of your intentions. That being said, if you ever at all want to cease this courtship, I will put a hand in to stop it if you find it difficult. Understood?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Well enough.” He let a light grin put a dimple in his cheek. “And here you were at this very table lamenting that you should turn tail and run from the man should you see him again.”

Hollow felt his cheeks grow pink. “I...I hadn't known of his...affections. I had thought him indifferent.”

Julian leaned forward, smug. “Perhaps, next time, you'll listen to your brother when he tells you that an Alpha fancies you.”

Miss Calloway entered and greeted the three of them with a formal curtsy. Hollow narrowed his eyes at her when she flashed him a coy glance and carefully hid a smile. “My Lord, My Lady, Mr. Hainsley. There is a gentleman here to visit with Mr. Hainsley. He has introduced himself as a Mr. Penberth of Belcourt.”

He got up and left his brother and Ophelia to their breakfast, neither of them concerned enough to provide him with a chaperone for the illustrious Edwin. His cousin was standing next to the mantle in the drawing room, his imposing height still leading Hollow practically to distraction as he again, as always, marveled how his cousin had ever missed presenting as an Alpha. Hollow rushed to him and laughed when he was lifted into the air and whirled about before being gracefully set down. His memory betrayed him when it flitted back to the way Asterly had lifted him just as easily, sweeping him off his feet while he could scarce breathe through his unshakeable lust. He gulped back the memory, scolding himself soundly as he peered upwards into his favorite cousin's green eyes.

Edwin was grinning hard when he took Hollow's face in his big hands and planted a solid kiss right in the middle of his forehead, laughing with him. “I apologize for having come late into town. Father needed me to stay on at the estate to take care of some pressing matters but I came as soon as I was able. I've heard tell of your adventures, little one.”

Hollow laughed again and took a step back from Edwin's hands, slapping his forehead with his palm and rolling his eyes dramatically while he gave a good-natured groan. “Lord have mercy,” he said through his chuckles, “It was not so dramatic as the papers claimed, I assure you. I was terribly embarrassed and the poor Lord Kentworth—”

“ _Poor?_ ” Edwin was still laughing, thank goodness, “Hollow, you damn nearly made him sterile from what the lads were saying at Whites.”

He snorted. “It was nowhere near as terrible as that. He should consider himself lucky that he is able to breathe enough to complain about it. I could have committed murder if Lady Netherfield had not pulled me from him.” As laughable as the situation seemed now, Edwin's expression held a tinge of seriousness that did not go unnoticed. “I swear to you, cousin, I am doing well despite. I promise you, I am capable of taking care of myself. My previous apprehension was not unwarranted but I know now that it was disproportionate. Once I got my feet wet, I found I rather liked swimming. Though so many Alphas in one place is still a trifle disconcerting, I have a clever plan to get me through the season without too many on my tail.” He grinned.

“Oh?” Edwin lifted one brow nearly to his hairline, already concerned.

“Simple,” Hollow explained, “Merely be courted by a high-ranking Alpha who will keep the others at bay. I will have less Alphas crowding me overly at balls and hopefully only the most confident should have the nerve to challenge for me. Of course, I will refuse them. One is enough to get me through a season and back to Westbrooke.”

“One is enough to ruin you,” Edwin noted severely, his hard voice having nowhere near the impact of an Alpha's. “Though it seems a cunning plot, your execution of it is what gives me reason to pause. If you are to be courted by anyone, Hollow, it should be me.”

“I do not wish to offend you, Edwin but to be courted by you could hardly have the same effect.”

His cousin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before he moved to sit in one of the high backed chairs near the hearth. “Hollow, you are impossible. If this all goes to hell, which, I am certain, it shall, you should come to me at once.”

“I don't see how it would,” Hollow crossed his arms in front of himself, guarding against such cynicism. “I'm quite determined, as you know. I have no plans to be compromised and I shall be extremely diligent. You will see, Edwin. You have nothing to fear.”

Edwin raised both brows this time. “Contrary, cousin, I have every reason to fear. Nevertheless, I should not care how compromised you are.” He leaned forward and put out his hand, taking Hollow's fingers in his and placing a chaste kiss to the backs of them. The gesture was kind and that of an older cousin rather than the tender scorching touch that Asterly had placed upon him before. Edwin smiled at him from where he sat. “Even if you are marked and shamed, I shall marry you without second thought. Now. Tell me of your evil plot. Who is the poor sod who is going to have his season wasted seeking your distant affections?”

“Hardly a poor sod,” Hollow rolled his eyes, “Lady Westbrooke is positively incensed by him and so I have rights to believe he deserves to be treated thusly. The _dastardly_ Duke of Asterly.”

Edwin stood suddenly, startling Hollow into taking a step back. His cousin almost appeared speechless for a moment before he shook his head. “No. Rescind your permission if you have given it.”

“Edwin—”

“I will not hear of it. He is detestable, Hollow. There is nothing he could possibly want from you that could be considered honorable in the least. His only attentions to debutantes have been to carelessly kiss them while he beds widows through their heats. He is a lecherous cretin and I'll hear no more of this plan. You must not allow him to be near to you, cousin. He will destroy your reputation.”

He gathered himself and frowned at Edwin's outburst. “What care have you if he ruins me? Which, by the way, he will not.” He huffed, wishing he could but divulge to his cousin the secret of his having already been quite nearly compromised already. He wished he could use the argument that Asterly did not kiss him even when begged but he was only too certain that Edwin would only use the information to convince him of his inability to handle a season. “You've already stated that you would marry me even if I were marked and shamed. What should it matter if I've been scented or kissed in a garden by a man who's kissed plenty of others before myself? What, then, is your opinion of our fair Lady Westbrooke?”

Edwin sputtered.

“I will not be told how to spend my season by anyone save Lord Westbrooke and if you are of the mind to appeal to him, I bid you good luck. He and I have already come to an agreement on the matter and he has allowed me to stay the course.” He softened his tone and took a step closer to his cousin. “Edwin. Please. I will not be hurt by him.”

His cousin took both of his hands and his shoulders drooped while he sighed. “I worry for you, little one. I can only hope that Asterly puts himself out of line with you and receives the same kindness you bestowed upon _poor_ Lord Kentworth.”

Hollow snickered. “I sincerely doubt it.”

It was then that Miss Calloway appeared again, her grin this time a bit more prominent. “Another gentleman to see you, Mr. Hainsley.” Edwin stiffened his posture, his fists clenching. “He has introduced himself as a Mr. Bickett in the employ of His Grace, Duke of Asterly.”

Hollow glanced at Edwin and they both walked to the entrance and found Bickett standing straight and tall, having given an impressive bouquet of English roses to the housekeeper who tutted over their beauty and placed them prominently on one of the decorative tables in the front hall. The well-dressed and stately valet bowed deeply to both Hollow and Edwin, pulling a small envelope out of his jacket and holding it with two fingers, a sly smile just a ghost over his mouth.

“A gift from His Grace, Mr. Hainsley. He shall be quite cross when he finds that I have purloined one of his rejected notes to you from the piles of them, but I fear if I had not, you should have never laid eyes upon their charm.”

Hollow took the small envelope and felt something stir in his chest. He swallowed. “Thank you, Mr. Bickett. The roses...they are beautiful.”

Bickett didn't hide his grin as he moved toward the door. “Twenty-three of them, Mr. Hainsley.”

He swallowed again and watched the valet leave, stuck in his spot with the small note between his fingers.

“Well?” Edwin asked, breaking his trance.

He blinked and looked at him as he stared at the note in his hands. He put the paper against his chest and frowned at his cousin, saying nothing before he pulled his feet from the marble floor and fled up the stairs to his chamber, shutting the door and locking it before he sat next to the hearth in one of the overstuffed chairs, finally gathering enough courage to look down at the blank envelope again. He opened it with trembling fingers, pulling it out with his breath caught in his throat.

_Dearest Hainsley,_

_I should forever think myself a fool for having wasted so many years searching in vain for that which would but fall into my soul in a London drizzle. I shall never see rain again without casting thoughts over you._

_I am wakeful and in misery to but waltz with you once more. Your youthful grace and ardent passion have consumed my dreams and your presence within is as a ghost—a wisp of moonlight that remains forever twenty-three and forever exquisitely silvered._

_Each minute I spend without your company is intolerable as I desperately wish for your sweet voice, your cutting wit, and that soft light in your innocent eyes._

_Forever,_

_Morgan_

Hollow stared into the fire with the brief note in his lap, considering casting it into the licking flames for the simple fact that he'd felt the words stirring deep in his belly. When Ophelia had insisted that Asterly was a known predator, Hollow was absolutely certain that she hadn't meant in this particular manner. He pulled the delicate parchment against his stomach and had to take in a few breaths before he allowed himself to bring it to his nose. It was not uncommon for some potential mates to scent their missives but this one only held a faint aroma. Bickett had most likely been telling the truth when he'd claimed that he had stolen the small note and even the knowledge that Asterly— _Morgan_ —had been so tormented for words was enough to force Hollow into admitting that the work of keeping the Duke at a distance was going to be quite a strain for him.

He pulled his legs up and curled into a ball as he shifted the note before him again, his eyes scanning over it numerous times until he thought he could recite it by heart. Before long, he found his gaze unfocused and his mind drifting into that winding pine forest and the glimmering dapples that undulated with the whisper of the breeze above him.

_Forever. Morgan._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone who loves Bickett: The roses were his idea, as if you couldn't guess. What's a Duke without the perfect valet? Really.
> 
> Up Next: Who's up for another late-night party?
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented thus far and provided feedback for what they think of the story/chapter and the characters. It means a lot to me that there are so many people interested in reading something I'm working on. I apologize if I don't get to answering every comment, as I am sometimes at work when I check my inbox and I can be quite featherbrained at times. The fact that so many of you seem invested in the course of plot and characters is so encouraging, especially within the oddness of the A/B/O universe. I hope I am sufficiently doing justice not only for the dynamics but also for the period. Again, thank you, and be sure to leave a comment if you feel so inclined to do so.


	12. Chapter 12

Hollow saw Asterly three times in the coming week and, of course, the papers had caught wind of their courtship, the authors noting the Duke's past improprieties and wondering as they wrote if he might have finally found what he was looking for. Hollow mostly paid them no mind along with the disapproving stares that his chaperone kept insisting on giving the Alpha when they were out. Ophelia made it fairly obvious that she was not amused by Asterly's courtship but even so, Hollow could see her warming up as the Duke paid her attention. By the third time he had called upon Hollow, Ophelia had hardly been cool to him at all, content to merely sit with them and listen while the two of them spoke. Hollow had never mentioned the note that Bickett had brought, deciding to keep that small tidbit between himself and the valet, figuring that he would rather the man keep his position in order to facilitate things if the need arose.

For Asterly, it seemed that with every visit he was more and more cheerful. His tiredness was not lost on Hollow but the Omega did not comment upon it, assuming that it perhaps had to do with more than just his mentioned wakefulness in the note. He could only hope, in any case. He was the perfect gentleman both in and out of the drawing room and Hollow would have been a fool if he didn't admit to himself that the Duke's golden-eyed gaze was somewhat exhilarating, still bringing him errant memories of his shamelessness.

Asterly had called it “passion” and insisted that it was nothing to be embarrassed over but Hollow was still dubious of the fact. The night after their third outing, he laid in bed, curled with his pillow in his arms, his nose pressed against the now-familiar scented cravat he'd kept safe. Its infusion was fading but he paid no mind, taking in that calming aroma while he held his pillow and reconsidered his _passion_. Perhaps, he thought, easing his fingers between his legs to stroke himself gently, perhaps Asterly hadn't been so wrong. He took deep inhales of the Duke's fragrance while he pulled and tugged himself, unable to hold back a quiet open-mouthed yelp when he came, shivering under his covers. For such a long time, it had seemed enough. He lay there alone in the dark and created the soft comfortable fantasy of a large—huge—presence near to him. A warm palm that would smooth over his side and his thigh and pleasure him and comfort him even in weeks when he wasn't suffering. As much as he hadn't thought it possible, he was beginning to fantasize that perhaps there could have been something beyond Westbrooke.

He was still thinking about it when Miss Calloway was getting him ready for a ball at the Lanchester's London manor. She was fiddling with the cowlick in his hair, passing her fingers over it a few times and humming to herself as if considering what she might do to keep it from sticking up just so. He watched her hand move while he sat in front of the mirror, wondering if she'd ever been in love.

He suddenly stood, surprising Miss Calloway into a tiny cry. Turning toward her, his face burning, he apologized to her and stumbled out of his room, practically running down the stairs as if trying to get away from the casual pondering. Fortunately, Ophelia was just about ready to leave, her gown a deep gray with white lace accenting and silvery threads that glittered along with the diamond pins in her coiffure. She turned when he pounded his way down the stairs and didn't ask him any questions when he went to wait outside near the coach.

_Love?_

He tried to keep his mind occupied when they were on their way, the carriage jerking around on the sometimes uneven streets.

Julian wasn't fooled.

“You smell nervous,” he stated. “What is it?”

He wasn't certain. He wanted to tell his brother that it was because he thought he might have accidentally been in love with the Duke before he'd even known it. It could have been something that had crept up on him like a warm tide that was now steadily rising above his head. He lied. “I suppose it is just that I will have to keep Edwin from getting himself in trouble.”

Lady Westbrooke giggled. “Oh, perish the thought. Betas nearly never challenge Alphas over courtships. Tis suicide.”

Julian leaned backward and leveled a stare at Hollow. “I'll keep him from it if it were to come to that. As long as Asterly is honorable tonight, he should have no reason. If you get yourself kissed in the garden, don't tell your cousin.”

Hollow grinned, silently wishing that he might get stolen away. “Love” was most likely a fanciful way to put it, anyway. It was unlikely that it were the case. The fantasy of having a lover was something else entirely. Did it have to be Asterly? Could it just as easily be Edwin? He looked at his gloved hands and tried to imagine his cousin standing behind him while he sat in front of a vanity, meeting his eyes in the mirror. He tried to imagine Edwin waiting for him to come down to breakfast. He tried to imagine those soft brushes, tender touches, and that ardent _passion_ he'd displayed when he had caught an Alpha's scent. But it wouldn't be the same, and he knew it. Edwin wasn't an Alpha. The desperation and pain couldn't be fully treated with a scent—a touch—a mating.

Before he could stumble any further into his thoughts, he was being escorted by the lovely Lady Westbrooke into the Lanchester manor. After he'd greeted the Lord and Lady of the house, he and Ophelia repeated their routine, dancing together first. This time, he found himself having much more fun, laughing with her while they worked through the steps, her dress swishing across the floor and mesmerizing him. When the song ended, they were both still chuckling together, shoulder to shoulder and heading toward the punch bowl. This time, they did not encounter Kentworth. In fact, he did not encounter anyone at all, the crowds moving easily while they wandered through.

It seemed curious until he'd turned around after having finished his punch and looked up toward the dance floor. Most of the Alphas and Betas present were tugging the fingers of cautious Omega debutantes, persuading them to dance and breaking their clustered ranks. Hollow cast a satisfied glance at Ophelia.

“It seems I've managed to rescue the season for more than just myself.”

“Oh yes,” she rolled her eyes, “You are much the martyr for it, I'm sure.” She smiled at him. “We should find him. I am certain he would love to dance with you.”

“Edwin?”

She elbowed him. “ _Asterly_ , you impossible little chit.”

It wasn't hard to find him. Hollow could recognize his scent as soon as he arrived. He turned toward the archway that led to the ballroom and brushed his fingers down Ophelia's wrist to capture her attention. Her responding touch was against his back, pushing him forward and he stumbled over his own feet, laughing while he looked back at her, suddenly anxious. He walked slowly until his heart flipped when those gold eyes flashed in the warm light over him.

The Duke met him halfway, giving him a slight bow. His voice was a deep rumble easily discerned through the din. “Good evening, Mr. Hainsley. I trust you are well?”

“Very well,” he replied, surprised to find himself a little winded. He wished beyond anything to pull Asterly down and scent him if only to dispel the mingled cacophony of aromas that accosted him at every turn. He deeply desired just the one to overtake him and he didn't care to admit it to himself. “I suppose it would perhaps be much too forward to ask you if you might waltz with me, Your Grace?”

Asterly visibly swallowed before he chuckled, his mouth spreading into an uncharacteristically shy smile. “Oh, I believe you may get away with such a bold request, Mr. Hainsley. Especially since I will fully accept. My next waltz will be yours.”

“Splendid.” He was not quite sure why he'd felt so nervous. There had been no reason to suspect that the man would refuse him; quite the contrary actually. The anxiety within him must have stemmed directly from that eagerness he held to have those strong hands leading him.

_I am wakeful and in misery to but waltz with you once more._

He nodded to himself, stuttering over his next words to the imposing figure. “I...I should get back to...to L-Lady Westbrooke. She must...she must...”

“Allow me to accompany you, Mr. Hainsley. I am certain our waltz is short in coming and I would be near to you when it begins.” He looked as though he wanted to touch Hollow but his hands remained clasped behind his back. Perhaps to prevent such an indiscretion.

As he settled himself by Hollow's side near Ophelia, he gave her a noble greeting and chatted with them both, listening attentively to Lady Westbrooke's opinion on the refreshments available. Surprisingly enough, Asterly had strong opinions on the types of cucumber sandwiches that different household cooks made, knowing each particular cook's recipe in such detail that Hollow was left nearly choking on his laughter.

Asterly was adamant that it was not as strange as Hollow made it seem. “One _must_ know these things. It is imperative to know whether or not one is going to like the cucumber at a ball before one accepts any overlapping invitations. If you went to balls and parties as much I do, you would pick up on these subtle differences.”

Even Ophelia was forced to laugh at him when he made the assertion, her smile lingering even as her laughter faded away. When the next waltz began to play, she scooted the two of them off onto the dance floor, her hand on Hollow's shoulder to urge him toward the patient Alpha.

He felt as if he were melting, his fingers tingling and nearly numb where they were held by Asterly's when he was led across the open floor. The Duke was a wonderful dancer and they moved perfectly together, Hollow so entranced by the proximity of the imposing man and the way his masculine fragrance became stronger within the circle of their arms. He breathed him, wishing he could be free, finally, to bury his nose against Asterly's soft neck, to push his cheek against his collar and cravat and perhaps stay there. While he was whirled between the multitudes of other couples, his mind wandered to wonder how Asterly's shoulder would feel if he were not wearing a cravat...or a shirt. If his skin were bare so that Hollow could place gentle kisses under his ear, working toward his arm one mild touch at a time, perhaps starting at one scent gland and not stopping until he had ended the trail at the Alpha's wrist.

That deep, thunderingly low tone met his ears and he shivered as the Duke spoke.

“Do I have such an effect on you, small one?”

He gasped, nearly tripping in his waltz, rescued by Asterly's strong grip and stuttering his response. “I-I...I didn't...I...it's just that my...thoughts...” He couldn't get out anymore, unable to look upward into that gold stare. He hadn't realized that he'd been getting worked up and that the Duke must have been able to scent it.

Asterly laughed through his nose. “You are far more wicked than I previously suspected, little Omega. We are relatively alone. Do tell me your thoughts.”

He nearly jolted at the suggestion, his face gaining a significant flush. “I dare not, Your Grace.”

“It is only fair,” Asterly teased. “For you have read mine.”

“Oh.” He looked upward. “You...you knew?”

He grinned. “Bickett confessed to me that he had played the thief and given it to you.” It could have merely been the lights but Hollow was almost sure the Duke was blushing. “I hadn't wanted to send it. I hadn't wanted to inadvertently remind you of something you'd claimed you wished would be forgotten.”

He could not respond. Not when he so very much wanted to tell the Alpha that he had been rethinking the course of that night and how much he seemed to wish to repeat it. How much he was thinking of how he would like to rain light touches over broad, warm shoulders. Perhaps how he would cherish the feel of what it was like to be kissed. Even just once if once was all he would ever have.

The waltz ended before Hollow even remembered that he'd been dancing and he was led back to Ophelia in a daze. The Duke, seeming to forget himself, beamed down at Hollow with a charming smile, tapping one gloved finger on the very tip of the Omega's nose.

“Some bourbon, small one?”

He perked, snapped out of his trance. “Oh yes. Yes, please.”

Asterly moved to leave just as Ophelia was asked to dance by Lady Netherfield who cast an appreciative glance toward Asterly's backside and then a cheeky wink to Hollow before she led Ophelia onto the dance floor with grace and posture. This left Hollow to stand alone by the sidelines, hoping that he should not be accosted by any strange Alphas. He needn't have worried, he found, when a lovely scented older Omega brushed up next to him, her hair pinned up with emeralds and sapphires that matched the deep greens and blues of her luxurious gown. The feathers she had in her hair were short and straight and fanned from her ear in a prudent manner that Hollow appreciated much more than the brash poofs that the debutantes normally sported.

Her voice was lower than most Omegas, a sultry texture that immediately calmed any of his nerves. “So you're little Mr. Hainsley.” She tipped up her mouth to the side. “I've heard much about you, my love.”

He turned slightly toward her while she gave him her hand and he bowed over it. “My Lady...?”

“Turnwell. My husband was the late Earl.” She smiled at him, giving him a blatant once-over and seeming to approve. “I'm Morgan's bedmate.”

Hollow suddenly couldn't breathe. His anxiety skyrocketed and he felt his heart nearly stop in his chest, falling into the bottomless pit of his stomach while he was trapped on the edge of the dancing couples with a plaster smile. He found his mouth screwed shut.

She was still smiling at him. “I suppose he didn't say anything about me. He shouldn't. Not if he wants to marry you, which he clearly does.” She pulled out her fan and began flipping it toward her face, dispersing her light sugared scent to cut the Alpha-heavy air. “If you want some advice, Mr. Hainsley,” Her eyes were serious over her smile. “Marry the man. He's got a kind soul under all that macho Alpha posturing. He's about as sensitive as an Omega and he's got less confidence than he looks. If you catch him in a raw moment, Mr. Hainsley, which I have many times, it all falls away. He needs someone like you. He needs a mate.” She stopped smiling, sighing heavily. “There is so much inside him you could not know, little love.”

Hollow gulped, his mouth and mind suddenly wishing for that bourbon he'd been promised.

Turnwell smiled again, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “I will miss him. But that is only natural. I want him to be happy. I see the way he looks at you when you turn away from him. As if there were heaven in his eyes.”

His heart ached and he vaguely recognized that his hand was against his chest, his fist tight and pressing against that unfamiliar pain. He must have seemed so rude to have remained silent but he couldn't speak still, his emotions suddenly overflowing and his physical body overtaken by what he had correctly identified earlier as...

He choked out his words, unable to be in such a crowded place any longer. “Excuse me...my Lady.”

The Lanchester Manor's terrace was off of a main hallway and he found several people loitering in the hallway on his way through. He pulled open the french doors and found that the night was chillier than he'd expected, the cold wind whipping through his cowlick and biting his nose while he sucked in the clear breeze. He left the door open just a tad and was comforted by the number of loitering guests who could see him through the glass. It was quiet and cool and fresh and he wasn't actually alone.

He leaned on the hard wood railing and closed his eyes, letting those hot feelings seep into his body from his heart. There was a giddiness there. He wanted to scream. To yell to Asterly—to _Morgan_ —that he loved him. He wanted to be kissed, right there on the terrace, and to hold his Alpha's face in his hands and crush their lips together like he could live no longer without having done so. When the french doors squeaked open again behind him, he turned around and felt himself grinning like a madman when he found the tall Duke standing there with one gloved hand clutching a bourbon and the other in his pocket.

Hollow stopped short, taking only one step forward before he lost his grin and pulled back, startled by the clear sting of anger in the Alpha's scent. He stood still, his hands down at his sides, dangling uselessly while his heart crept upwards into his throat in an unnameable panic. His voice was small. “Muh...Morgan?”

The Alpha held the glass out by the rim the same way he had when Hollow had first met him, the fury in his scent unabated. Hollow made no move for it until Asterly's low tone held the edge of _Alpha_.

“ _Take it._ ”

He did, his mouth opening in a slight gasp as his hand came out nearly automatically.

Despite all the indignant rage in those frightening golden eyes, the true fear Hollow held was from the pain that lay under it all. His voice was but a whisper in the cold spring wind. “Morgan?”

“ _Don't._ ”

The demand was all-encompassing and it held him there until Asterly was gone, leaving him trapped until the dread and panic had been eroded by the time and the breeze. By the time Hollow was able to move again, to run after the man he loved—he had vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rut Roh.
> 
> Up next: Whatever the fuck happened when Morgan went to go get a glass of bourbon.


	13. Chapter 13

The Lanchesters kept their bourbon in the library. It was one of the things he'd noticed during one of his many balls he'd attended and he wasn't about to forget such a tidbit. Not when he knew his little Omega was partial to the strong liquor. He strolled there with his steps light, humming to himself and reflecting on the fantastic waltz he'd just teased the boy through. The pleasant and familiar tingle of arousal in Hainsley's scent had sent him straight into that comfortable smugness he liked to feel when he was making an attempt at seduction. The fact that his little Omega had been the one to ask for the dance and then became aroused as it was in progress was something he couldn't merely let slip away into nothing. He filed it away in his brain, chalking it up on his mental board as a win for team Asterly.

_Let's see Penberth arouse him with just a dance._

Normally, he would be sifting through all the ways he might be able to get the Omega alone to kiss him. When it came to Hainsley, he'd started thinking of when would be the most appropriate time to ask him a question. A _specific_ question. Of course, it couldn't be too early. He had to take it rather slowly, he thought, despite wanting to just burst out with it. He also had to be discreet—at first. The waltz had been such a good sign that he was on the road to victory and he most certainly did not want to wait until the end of the season to propose.

It wasn't as though it should be unexpected. A courtship nearly always led to a proposal and even if the girl rejected it once or twice to play coy, it was generally expected that if she was going to be aroused during no more than a waltz, she would likely say yes. As Penberth had already made his offer, Morgan couldn't be too far behind lest he lose the game to the tenacious Beta who most likely had every reason to see his quarry nearly every day and, possibly, _alone_.

The library was lit by several oil lamps and there was a group of men sitting in the circle of chairs. He'd ignored them when he walked in but when he turned around from the decanter, he looked upward to find them all staring at him. Penberth was lounging with a glass of brandy in his hand, giving him a smirk that was nothing less than spiteful. The expression itself was enough to give Asterly pause but the way the rest of them were looking at him was really what put questions in his head. He'd inadvertently wandered into something and he wasn't sure if he wanted to know what it was.

Westbrooke was the only one who had broken off the stare nearly immediately, moving his attention to the book in his hands as if entirely unaffected by Asterly's presence.

There was an awkward pause before Morgan cleared his throat. “Gentlemen.”

Penberth barked a laugh from where he half-lay on the settee. “I say. Speak of the devil and he shall appear. What is it that's got you so jolly, Asterly?”

Morgan didn't want to answer. In fact, all he wanted to do was flee. The impulse wasn't very Alpha-like and was most certainly not something a Duke should have done in the face of an untitled gentleman like Penberth. He searched the faces of the men in the room finding Halwill and Rainton sitting in chairs while Westbrooke ambled away with his nose in his book. He was quite nonplussed to find that he had lost that tiny sparking tingle in his nose from the Omega's arousal and he fully blamed Penberth's intrusion.

“What say you, Asterly?” Penberth asked in a low, dangerous tone. “Something having to do with the little Mr. Hainsley?”

Rainton was trying to hide a smirk and doing a piss poor job of it.

Something was afoot and Morgan was starting to get that sinking, depressive feeling in his stomach. He tensed his abdomen, willing himself to act his part. “And what possible interest could you have in my happiness? I am not of mind to discuss it with you in any facet, whether it stems from an interaction with Mr. Hainsley or not.”

“Carry on, then,” Penberth laughed.

Morgan couldn't seem to lift his feet from where he stood, standing solidly in his place while staring hard at the Beta who was sipping his brandy and casting him challenging glances. He felt cold annoyance rising in his chest and throat and he gripped the bourbon in his hand defensively.

Penberth chuckled, urging him. “Go on, Duke. Your victim awaits.”

Morgan growled. “He is hardly my victim. I have no ill intention toward him. I never have.” He stopped himself, snapping his lips together to prevent himself from giving any further explanations. He did _not_ have to explain himself to anyone. Especially not a lower-ranking Beta such as Penberth. The thought that he had even done so just the small bit was enough to make him perfectly incensed at himself.

Penberth sat up. “Oh. As if an Alpha could alter his nature. A ridiculous notion. You cannot fool me, Asterly. No matter. You're not going to get what you want. Hollow has no intentions to marry.” Westbrooke made his way behind Penberth and closed his book with a snap, forcing the Beta to look at him over his shoulder. He passed Penberth a clear warning in his glance but the Beta stood instead. “Please, Julian. You cannot allow such a farce to continue.”

The Earl dropped the book on the now-empty settee and leaned on the back of it. “Its beginnings may justify its ends.”

“ _Not to me_.” Penberth was glaring now, first at Westbrooke and then at Morgan, his vehemence not quite what Morgan should have expected from a Beta. He lifted his hand, pointing at Morgan roughly. “You've been tricked, _Your Grace._ He's got you wrapped around his little finger and you've stumbled right into the trap.”

“Edwin,” Westbrooke muttered.

“You keep bringing him bourbon. See if it changes anything at all. See if you can't lure him out behind the bushes and ravish him. Why don't you try to scent him? Test your luck against Kentworth's.”

“Edwin,” the Earl repeated.

“We can all take bets on whether or not you'll be successful, but know this, Duke; after you're finished toying with him and he's finished using you to keep his other suitors at bay, I'll be at Belcourt waiting to be his husband.”

“ _Edwin_ ,” Westbrooke snapped.

The Beta whirled around to focus his glare at his cousin. “Don't you _dare_ use your Alpha voice on me, Julian. How dare you let this _charade_ continue to this end? Do you want your brother to be ruined by his foolish plot?”

Morgan felt something shattering inside him.

_Charade. Plot. Trap. Farce._

The fact that his name and title could have been utilized to keep other suitors away hadn't been something he'd given too much thought. Lady Hayworth's warning to him to be careful after he'd first met the little Omega hadn't been something he'd taken seriously. All the debutantes wanted to get married. Even the ones who originally bolted from the idea would eventually find a match for themselves through convenience or love and Hainsley had simply seemed so...receptive.

_I would like to see you at my feet, Your Grace._

He blinked. “You're lying.” Even as he said it, he was uncertain of its validity. He wanted it to be true. He wanted Penberth to be wrong. To be mistaken or even malicious in his intent. But the Beta had never been less than honorable in his life. His integrity was too complete to render his assertions obsolete. He felt his brows flicker downward. He felt a deep aching. “He...he is not so...”

_Heartless._

Penberth chuckled humorlessly. “Oh, you blind fool.” His laugh grew. “You cannot tell me you actually fell in _love_ with him. You Alphas are all so absurd.”

Morgan felt his bottom lip tremble and he hardened himself, forcing his brows together, quickly turning every emotion that welled up from his heart into anger. He turned his eyes to Julian, his voice thin and edged. “Westbrooke?”

The Earl's lips pursed before he answered. “It is...not a lie.”

He wanted to back in time. He wanted to step right back onto Hayworth's stone terrace in the middle of that cool evening and say nothing when he saw the Omega vomiting over the railing. He wanted to have sipped his bourbon in silence, offering nothing. He wished he had never met Bartholomew Hainsley.

Mostly, he wanted to cry. He left the library with the bourbon still in his hand, wandering around aimlessly, his heart hardening the more he wandered. Through the ballroom, through the hall, finally to the doors of the terrace. Finally. Finally he could just...get rid of it all. He wanted to erase that fearful glance. He wanted to wipe the way Hainsley whispered his name, the sound of it nearly lost to the cold wind. He wanted to erase everything that had ever happened to him after he'd laid his eyes upon the only Omega he'd ever...

When he got back to the London house, he dropped his greatcoat on the floor, stomping his way upstairs until Bickett appeared.

“It is quite early, Your Grace,” he mused.

“Get my things together, Bickett,” he growled. “I'm sick of London. I want to go home.”

* * *

He was in bed for a week. The countryside was alight with the spring and he was often only aware of the morning when the birdsongs were loudest outside his window. He slept for short intermittent periods and tossed his covers about, snipping at Bickett whenever the valet came in to give him his meals or to offer him clothes in the mornings. There was an uncontrollable aching in his chest that was hard to define and even harder to soothe. Every so often, he was consumed with senseless rage, screaming into his pillow and pulling at his hair, desperate just to get rid of the hideous pit inside himself. The empty space where his heart used to beat. He turned away all visitors...of course, there had only been one.

It lasted only as long as Bickett could stand for it. The valet brought him a tray of cucumber sandwiches and cleared his throat, waiting Morgan to acknowledge him. When the acknowledgment and permission never came, he took the liberty.

“Your Grace, you cannot stay abed for the rest of your life.”

“Go to the Devil,” he mumbled, reaching an arm out from the covers to take one of the small finger sandwiches.

“Have you forgotten that you are a Duke?” Bickett asked mildly.

“I said, go to the Devil.”

The valet sighed impatiently through his nose. “You must get up, Your Grace. You have visitors.”

He munched on another cucumber sandwich, pulling his head under the covers. “I will see no one. You can tell him to go to the Devil too. In fact, take him with you when you go.”

“I will not allow you to miss this meeting, Your Grace. Forgive my impertinence. I am not taking 'go to the Devil' as an answer this afternoon. You will get up.”

“Bickett.” He pulled his covers down to stare his valet in the eyes. “The only reason I will get out of this bed is if the King himself has constructed my gallows in the lawn. I will die willingly with grace. I will put my fine boots on and have them shined.”

“And if the King were Lady Westbrooke?”

Morgan's brain was scrambled. He sat up, pulling another cucumber sandwich to his lips before he got out of his bed and allowed Bickett to help him dress. His greasy hair was unkempt and sticking out at odd angles but at least his cravat was tied properly and his boots were on the correct feet. When he entered his drawing room, he felt that disturbing rage well. Bickett had mentioned that he had visitors. Plural. He'd neglected to mention the identity of one of them.

Lady Westbrooke stood along with Edwin Penberth. He was graced with a curtsy and a bow respectively from the two Betas who glanced at each other awkwardly when Morgan didn't tell them to sit. He had more of a mind to tell them to get the hell out but he was curious as to what the Lady could possibly want to say to him. Even more so, he was curious as to what the devil had happened to Penberth's face.

Morgan pointed at his own nose and eye and muttered flatly, “You didn't strike me as the type to brawl.”

Penberth smiled wryly, gingerly touching the blackish purple inner corner of his eye and the swelled bridge of his nose. “Oh. Yes. Odd to think I managed to earn that one.”

Lady Westbrooke broke in, her voice light but serious. “Your Grace, we're here about Hollow.”

“Hollow?”

She blinked. “Yes. I apologize. Mr. Hainsley. Bartholomew. Hollow.” She waved her hand in front of her face to dispel her errant thoughts.

Morgan's tone was grim and he started to turn toward the door. “I do not wish to discuss the matter. I am sorry you've wasted the trip. Feel free to enjoy the grounds before you leave. Good afternoon, Lady Westbrooke, Mr. Penberth.”

_Hollow. An apt name for the way he's left me._

“Wait.”

He felt his fists tightening at Penberth's simple word and he thought he might like to put a matching shiner on his other eye. Fresh pain seared through his chest and he could feel his lower jaw trembling again when he turned around and gritted his teeth. His words came out as a hiss. “What. Could you. Possibly wish. To tell me.”

“I came to tell you that I'm sorry. I am...I was...very wrong. What Westbrooke was trying to tell me was that he knew...he knew Hollow was falling in love with you. He's not in London anymore. He's gone back to Westbrooke. He tried to follow you here but he couldn't keep coming.” Penberth's face contorted to flash between sadness, anger and pain. They were expressions Morgan recognized well. His voice lowered. “He...keeps asking for you.” He took a short breath. “Screaming. For you.”

Hainsley—Hollow—had gone into heat. The phantom memory of that lustful scent cracked through his memories and made him flinch. The reason the boy hadn't been able to come after Morgan was because he had been fast coming up on the time he should have been tied down to his bed, writhing and suffering madly. Screaming. For Morgan.

He ground out his answer. “I see no reason why that should change your mind. Omegas scream plenty of nonsense when they are in heat.”

“I assure you, Your Grace,” Penberth insisted. “He is deeply affected by my indiscretion. He would not have hit me otherwise. He is insistent on seeing you even as his heat is fading. He would not drink. He would not eat. He is only just now beginning to come to rights. We are here to ask...to beg for your mercy.” Penberth's voice displayed clear desperation. “He _is_ in love with you, Asterly.”

He stared at the both of them, the Countess nodding very slightly, her eyes wide and pleading. Turning around again, he murmured softly, “Again. I am sorry you wasted the trip. Good afternoon. Lady Westbrooke. Mr. Penberth.”

He dragged his feet up the stairs and kicked his boots off when he reached his bed, sitting down on it heavily while Bickett entered the room and clasped his hands behind his back, his sharp eyes leveled straight upon Morgan.

“What do you want, Bickett?” he asked, looking up at the older man.

“Permit me, Your Grace.”

He sighed. “You're permitted.”

Bickett slapped him. Hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now it's a real party.


	14. Chapter 14

It was exactly how he'd imagined it. He spied the tops of the trees against the overcast sky while he laced his fingers on his stomach, his boots resting up on the side of the little boat while he fluttered his eyelids closed. The sun was not too bright through the clouds and he was so very tired. It was the first day that Julian would hear of him going outside after his heat and he wasn't going to allow a bit of tiredness to stop him from being exactly where he wanted to be. His whole body was filled with one big aching from the way he'd pulled and convulsed during the past few days. He felt raw and exposed. He just had to get back to where he'd been before the whole nightmare had started.

Hollow rubbed his chest with his thumb, looking to calm the pain that was present in his heart. It would be there a long time, Ophelia had said. She claimed that eventually it would go away but Hollow wasn't so daft as to assume that it would be within his lifetime. He had gained nothing of worth in his season. Only a broken heart.

_I have been such an ass._

He opened his eyes again and felt his tears slip from the corners of his eyes while his breaths came raggedly into his lungs. He tried to convince himself that it was alright because he was tired. He could cry this time. Just this one time. He had cried a lot during his heat, thrashing and weeping hard against the pain but that had been excusable. This? This was because he was sleepy. He needed a nap. He was just overwrought. Right?

Julian wouldn't hear of him traveling anywhere until he was completely well again. He'd been terribly worried when Hollow had refused water and food during the thick of it, irrationally pushing away everything that would help him and begging for the one thing he couldn't possibly attain. His Alpha.

For a long time, Hollow simply lay in the bottom of the boat, listening to the birds in the trees and bushes, twittering to their rivals and their mates. His ears searched for Rhineholt's impatient strides. He listened to the way the warm breeze rolled through the bows of the trees. He took in a deep breath and savored the green of the countryside, the wet from the latest rain. He took another breath to try to pull in more of the verdant grass. There was a spice in it. A familiar one.

He sat up so quickly that he had to grab onto the edges of the boat as it rocked. His heart was in his throat and he was sobbing, doubled over and wishing he wouldn't be haunted so. He let go a desperate cry, wiping at his eyes only to find a large—huge!—presence on the shore. Hollow felt his breath coming in short, shallow pants while tears streamed over his cheeks. He bent his head down to his knees and held his hands over the top of it, refusing to look. As much as he couldn't look at him, he couldn't stop himself from _smelling_ him. For one mad second, he thought of telling Asterly to get away from him.

_That's not what I want._

Struggling and shivering, he scrambled from his position, rocking the boat even harder as he flung off his boots and leaped dramatically from the side of the rowboat into the water. He stayed under the cold pond water for a few seconds to allow it to cool his head before he swam to the surface and began pulling himself to shore. He didn't have to go as far as he'd thought when he found that Asterly was in the water. When Hollow stood up, his feet sinking into the mud under him, he found the Duke walking forward, the now-turbulent water lapping at his thighs. He was within arm's length but the Alpha did not reach for him. He stood, shivering, grateful for the water that dripped from his hair so that Asterly could not see his tears.

Hollow sobbed out his words, unable to keep his pain in check.

“I'm...I'm so _sorry_.” He felt that his mouth was open but he couldn't seem to say anything else.

Asterly's scent was calm with no traces of anger or frustration in the slightest. He took a few steps forward until he was nearly on top of Hollow, his strong arms wrapping him in warmth while he bent his head to brush his nose against Hollow's wet cowlick. His whisper only made the Omega weep harder.

“ _I know. I know._ ” His soft shushing was punctuated by the careful brushes of his fingers against Hollow's hair and his shoulders while he pulled him against the warm, dry fabric of his waistcoat.

Hollow gasped and had to let go a few ugly sobs which he buried into Asterly's chest before he begged pathetically against him, his eyes screwed shut tight and his hands clutching his Alpha about the middle. “Please. Please don't leave me. I could not bear it. I need you.”

The grip around him tightened. “Alright, small one. Let us not get into hysterics. Your brother has told me that you are quite fragile. I should hate to give you fits. What say you to getting out of the water and sitting with me by a warm hearth?”

Hollow could only nod.

The entire time Miss Calloway was helping him dress, he was shaking and nervous even as she was giggling and excited about his beau having come all the way from Asterly to see him. She had stars in her eyes as she told him how romantic it must have been to see him on the bank—to have him come for Hollow after such a horrific heat. Hollow merely listened, pulling on his dry shirt and forgoing the waistcoat and cravat, wishing for _less_ fabric around him as it was still irritating on his skin. He wasn't sure how romanced he felt. He felt shaken and raw, like he'd been on some kind of battlefield. His body was still aching from the stress of his heat and his brain was still addled from the stress of his weeping. He felt as if he were existing but perhaps just slightly off-center. For at least a minute as Miss Calloway was drying his hair the rest of the way with a towel, Hollow thought that maybe he was dreaming the whole thing and he was going to go down to the drawing room to find that there was no one there to greet him.

As it turned out, Asterly had one of his hands on the mantle, standing close enough to the fire that his wet pants might end up dried out, or at least warm and wet. He was much too tall to be able to fit into Julian's clothes and Hollow felt even worse about what he'd done to the poor man. He turned and his smile was light and a tad bit bashful. That Alpha rumble made Hollow weak in the knees.

“You look beautiful.”

Hollow choked on a dry laugh. “I look like I just crawled out of hell.”

The Duke's smile turned into a grin. “I will not rescind my statement, Hollow. You're quite handsome and I'm very much besotted by you.”

He took in a sudden and hard gasp that marked a welling of tears in his eyes. He fought them. “I...I am...I am too. Besotted by you, Your Grace.”

“Morgan,” he rumbled.

He lost the battle against a few tears and he wiped them away quickly. “ _Morgan_.”

Without a chaperone, he found himself cuddled against the Duke in one of the chairs where he could feel the heat of the fire on one side of him and the warmth of his Alpha against his other. He was sitting in the man's lap with his bare feet dangling off the armrest and his face only inches from Morgan's neck, settled against his shoulder. For a while they simply sat together, their eyes on the fire, enjoying each other. Hollow could feel a slight nervous thrumming in his body, shivering every so often with the marvel of how close he was to this perfect love. He let his eyes wander to the cravat that had been expertly tied around Morgan's neck, wishing that he could gather enough courage to remove it.

“Are you tired?” Morgan asked, his large hand brushing against Hollow's knee, his fingers curving around toward the back of it. “Perhaps you should rest.”

“No,” he whispered. He was quite tired but not tired enough to pull himself away from this moment. “I want to be here. With you.”

“Alright, small one. We can stay here as long as you want.”

Hollow brought his fingers to Morgan's cravat, toying with it a small bit before he tugged against it and gently untied it, slipping it from around his Alpha's neck until he could bring it to his nose, sighing into the concentrated scent. He leaned harder against Morgan's shoulder. Only a tiny bit embarrassed, he shifted to allow for his reaction.

Morgan, scenting Hollow's arousal, took the hand from his knee and cupped it around the back of his head, the motion entirely gentle and very unlike the way Kentworth had done it. The Alpha pulled him tenderly upward, bringing Hollow's nose against the side of his throat so that he might have what he truly wanted. His voice was very low and very patient.

“You're not quite done with that heat, are you, sweeting?”

Hollow breathed against Morgan's flesh. “It has faded greatly but...”

Morgan whispered, the sound sending goosebumps and tingles through every one of Hollow's limbs. “ _W_ _hat would you like, my love? Anything for you._ ”

He felt a deep shudder run through him and he jerked when he felt Morgan's light touch over the inner seam of his pants above his knee. He murmured against his Alpha's throat the only thing he could think of that would get him exactly what he needed.

“ _Would that I could kiss you_.”

To his great surprise, Morgan didn't immediately crush him into a soul-shattering kiss. The Alpha groaned and turned his head, sucking in a great lungful of Hollow's scent instead, his voice husky and lust-laden. “Please, Hollow. Marry me.”

“Yes,” Hollow breathed. “I will. I want to marry you.”

Without waiting any longer, Morgan's gentle grip tilted Hollow's jaw and the jittering Omega found his lips overtaken and his senses exploding. He felt the ripples of his faded heat stirring to life, blooming in his body like some straying rose of Jericho in an isolated pool. Morgan's mouth was not demanding but pressing and delicate, easing in and then backing off, breaking with a delicious sound that made Hollow only hunger for more. He pushed forward again, capturing Morgan in another, more determined kiss, asking the Alpha to show him everything he needed to learn. He was shown a deliberate playfulness that was maddening as well as intoxicating, Morgan's tongue pushing past his lips and passing over his own. It was a sensation that was unfamiliar and more than wanted, Hollow practically turning into a puddle from the back and forth of Morgan's motion. It was more than he'd ever expected. It was more than he could have imagined even after knowing that the man had been practicing kissing since he was a pup.

He broke off the kiss with a deep and thrilling gasp when he felt Morgan's palm rasping over him through his trousers, his fingers curling to outline where he was hot and tight against the fabric. His thighs opened and he grasped at the Alpha's shoulders, pulling and pressing, his hips moving in an attempt to create that delicious friction. He groaned when Morgan began to unfasten the front of his pants, a slight ring of warning shrieking in his head.

“Morgan. What if...what if someone...were to...?”

The Duke nibbled his ear. “Your brother has assured me that they will not.”

“Julian...” Hollow shuddered and looked down as Morgan finished his work, his warm hand bare against Hollow's heated velvet flesh. “He didn't,” he sighed in disbelief, unable to comprehend that his brother would put him at such risk to be ruined. But oh. Oh how he wanted to be ruined.

“He did,” Morgan rumbled in a laugh.

Hollow didn't have the will to think any more upon it. Morgan's hand was moving back and forth, stroking him. He jerked with a groan and the Alpha eased his hand down further into Hollow's trousers, his fingers brushing against his pulsing and puckered hole. He squeaked when Morgan brushed against it before the Alpha retreated and used the little slick Hollow had released as lubricant in the ring of his fingers around the Omega's tightened member. There wasn't much of it; his heat was truly at its end but he could still feel that _need_ underneath his logical mind.

“What do you want, little Omega?” Morgan murmured against his ear.

Hollow buried his nose in his Alpha's throat and gasped. “Fuh-faster.”

Morgan acquiesced, his wrist flicking faster, the ring of his fingers stroking and pumping, the pressure nearly to the point of becoming unbearable. Hollow had closed his eyes against the image but he couldn't keep his gaze away when he felt himself nearing that precipice. It was never so short, he thought through the fog in his brain. He looked down and gave out a strangled cry when he came, his release sending a hard shiver through every muscle while his seed spurted over Morgan's hand. His body continued to tense and release, the orgasm coming in waves, each of which seemed to take his breath away.

“Did you like that, my love?”

Oh yes. Oh God, did he like that. He could only moan and breathe against Morgan's neck, overcome by the force of it, the muscles in his thighs and abdomen trembling and twitching. Still, even as he was curled in his Alpha's embrace, even as he thought about how much _more_ he wanted to learn, he felt himself slipping. His eyelids drooped, heavy from how horribly sleepy he felt. He wanted to tell Morgan not to leave him. To stay with him until he woke. He wanted his Alpha to be with him every second of every day. He fell asleep before he could voice everything he wanted. Everything he thought he needed, the world fading into darkness.

It was dark when he stirred awake again, his body wrapped in linen, tucked into his bed. It was warm in the room with a fire in the hearth, the yellow and orange glow casting a glow over everything that was so familiar to him. He tightened his fingers over the unfamiliar feeling: a heaviness that filled his heart.

Morgan's hand was lying in his, the Alpha's head resting on his arm as he was leaned over the side of Hollow's bed. He was so tall that from where he sat in the chair, he looked terribly bent over.

He snickered, squeezing Morgan's fingers until his lashes slowly opened and he rubbed at his eyes, his tired smile coming over Hollow and warming him to his bones. He tugged his Alpha's hand close to his face and kissed the backs of his bare fingers, drinking in the sight of the tall masculine presence so near to him while he lay in his sheets. He was still missing his cravat, his shirt gaping open at his throat, allowing Hollow a peek at the curve of his collarbones.

“What are you doing?” Morgan smiled, watching while Hollow kissed each of his fingers in turn.

“Come to bed with me.”

“You need to rest. If I can wait to ruin you until after we are wed, so can you.”

He pouted. “You can't be comfortable in that chair.”

“I should be less comfortable with your backside against me without any relief in sight.”

Hollow popped a finger into his mouth, enjoying the way Morgan grimaced at the sensation. “Then I will help you. As you helped me.”

Morgan groaned. “No. No that is...Hollow. You know not what you do to me. Go back to sleep and dream of your next heat. I shall take my leave of you before I cannot control myself.”

He closed his eyes and squeezed Morgan's fingers again before he allowed them to slip away. Mumbling as he settled back into the covers, he asked, “Have you told Julian? That we are to be married? That I wish for you to be my Alpha?”

Morgan's laugh was low and soft. “Oh, I think he's known. Sleep, little one. Dream of me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by The Killers, Florence & The Machine, and...Mumford and Sons.
> 
> Up next: We get to see a wedding! A very, very hot wedding. (Uh oh?)
> 
> Also: Same day as the next chapter of this one (the end), I'll be posting the beginning of the next one so if you're still along for the Victorian A/B/O dealeo, it'll be a Lady Netherfield spin-off. Because who doesn't want an Alpha!Lady railing the hell out of an adorable man's ass after a cute, fluffy and slow-burn romance? (Whoa.)


	15. Chapter 15

Hollow was again sitting while Miss Calloway hummed in front of him, running her fingers over his shoulders to brush away what he thought must have been nothing at all. Ophelia had tried to insist that he should be married in something that was not black but Hollow would not hear of it and Miss Calloway was perfectly capable of making him look as good for his wedding as she could for any other party. She stopped her humming and stared down at his bouncing leg, scoffing and bending down to put her face in his.

“Mr. Hainsley.”

“Yes?”

She didn't ask him to permit her. She had expected an affirmation. “When you are standing at the alter and the funny little man is talking, you are not going to hear a word of what he says. You are going to be in front of everyone with your eyes fixed on your Alpha and your brain is going to turn into mash.” She arranged her skirts while she sat on her feet in front of him. “So. You only have to wait for him to ask you if you take his hand and you will say 'I do' and then you have to let him kiss you. That is _all_ you have to do.”

Hollow swallowed and nodded, taking a shuddering breath. “That doesn't seem so awful.”

“As you know, we've tried to time this perfectly so that you should go into heat in the next day or so. Has your brother mentioned it?”

Hollow shook his head, his attention suddenly intensely focused on Miss Calloway's words. “No. He hasn't said a word. I thought...I mean. It is instinct, isn't it?”

She rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath before she gave Hollow a soft smile and began. “Well. He might want to...consummate your marriage. Meaning he may wish to mate with you...tonight.”

“Tonight?” Hollow felt a slight panic start to rise in his chest. “But what if I...?”

“Your heat can come at any time, Mr. Hainsley. It could even be brought on a tad early if you are quite nervous or if he were to excite you overly. That is why we timed the wedding as such. All you have to remember is to present yourself properly. You should get on your hands and knees and, it is my personal opinion that you should hold a pillow or two. Then he will know that you are ready for him."

Hollow felt his face fill with blood and his thighs pressed together tightly. “Ready...ready for him to...”

Miss Calloway bit her bottom lip. “To...mount you.”

He covered his mouth with his hands. “Oh my God.”

“It is not so bad. Alphas are big but they are nothing you cannot handle, Mr. Hainsley. Although, it is better to know before it happens. He will have to fit his knot inside you if it is to be a proper mating.” She grimaced. “I swear to you, it is not as terrible as I am making it sound.”

“I should hope not,” he breathed. “I...I do not think he would do anything that is quite painful.”

Miss Calloway's grimace intensified.

“Oh God,” he groaned. “I forgot that there is such a thing as a rut.”

“Worry not, Mr. Hainsley. Everything will turn out alright.”

Despite her attestation, Hollow remained as anxious as ever.

The ceremony was held outside on the lawn at Asterly and Julian was to walk him to the alter where he would be presented formally to the Duke and where he would be wed. White flowers and multitudes of roses were everywhere and, along with the breeze, did a fine job of cutting through the scents of their relatively limited guests. Of course the Earl was very much aware of his nervousness as they stood together, waiting for their cue to proceed along the petal-laden grass. His brother sighed down at him and smiled with a small forlorn expression.

“Don't worry, Hollow,” he murmured while he gently placed a small crown of daisies on Hollow's head. “You'll be fine.” His brows quirked downward and he leaned forward, gripping the Omega's lapels to keep him still while his nose came just over Hollow's shoulder. Julian snickered. “Truly, do not be nervous. We should perhaps make sure the man hurries through the vows.”

“Pardon?”

Before Julian could answer, Hollow was being tugged down the aisle, his steps a tad bit clumsy as he stumbled at least once on his way. He tried to keep everything straight in his head but found himself a bit muddled anyway as he was deposited by his brother on the other side of the officiant from Morgan who was giving him a reassuring smile. Of course, as Miss Calloway was never actually wrong, Hollow felt himself rather melt into his spot on the grass, letting Morgan take his hands while he stared upwards into those shining golden eyes and lost himself. Any of his nervousness about how Morgan might do on their wedding night was quickly replaced when he breathed that calming fragrance that the Alpha so easily exuded. Around the time Morgan rumbled out an “I do” and Hollow mumbled his in its rightful place, he noted that Morgan's golden eyes were nearly just thin rings around pools of pure black.

He was snapped out of his reverie by the clap of a book shutting and he jumped, startled into looking at the officiant who popped his brows up toward his gray hair and opened his arms. “You may kiss now, gentlemen.”

Morgan gently took his chin and pressed his lips against Hollow's in a chaste but meaningful peck, breaking it off and whispering against Hollow's lips.

“Bickett will have dinner sent up to our rooms. You're driving every Alpha present up the wall. They couldn't handle a reception with you.” He placed another small peck on Hollow's mouth. “ _I_ couldn't handle a reception with you.”

He felt small beads of sweat roll down his neck from his hairline and the realization suddenly dawned on him that he was perhaps only a few minutes away from mindlessly ravishing his groom. He covered his mouth with his fingers while Morgan took his hand and they quickly made their way down the petal-covered aisle, forgoing any formality in their leaving. “Morgan,” he panted while he tried to keep up with the Duke's steps. “Is this really alright?”

“You are going to drive them all mad if you stand there and bow over all of them or let them bow over you. You're going to drive _me_ mad.” He led Hollow through the halls of the manor until he pulled him hard into a set of double doors, taking the young Omega's face in his hands before he pressed another kiss onto his lips, this one not so chaste and holding a promise for more.

Hollow's body was beginning to feel too hot. The irritation from his clothes was starting to become unbearable. He managed to speak around Morgan's persistent lustful kisses. “Morgan...they'll...they're still here. They know what we're doing.”

His Alpha chuckled. “As if none of them have ever mated before?”

Hollow had nothing else to say to that, his eyes falling to Morgan's massive bed that was covered with a huge regal purple counterpane that the Alpha flung to the end of the bed, revealing dark-colored silk sheets. When he was finished, the bed ready, he came back to Hollow with his smile ear-to-ear. His hands came out pleadingly but Hollow hesitated.

“What is the matter, my love?” Morgan asked, his smile faltering.

Hollow swallowed visibly and audibly. He could feel the first of his shivers crest and then crash through his muscles, the too-warm room and the delicious Alpha scent that coated everything causing his belly to tighten and blood to rush through him. His eyes were shifting between Morgan and the bed, still obsessing. Still considering what Miss Calloway had said. Still wondering when the Duke was to turn into a beast from his lust alone.

“Hollow?” Although Morgan's eyes were almost nothing but black and the outline of him was apparent in the front of his trousers, his expression was that of concern, his scent reflecting the emotion as well.

“I am...afraid.”

His Alpha chuckled, his shoulders drooping. “Oh. Perhaps we should wait until you've lost your sense.” He gave Hollow a cheeky wink and tapped the tip of his finger against the Omega's nose. “Wait here, sweeting.” He dipped his head down to whisper in Hollow's ear. “I'll get us some champagne. Then I'll put you in my mouth the way I've wanted to since Hayworth's garden party.”

Hollow felt his blush straight to his toes and stood staring at the closed doors for at least a minute after Morgan had left. The idea of the Duke putting Hollow into his _mouth_ was making it difficult to think of other more pressing matters. Like how he was going to have to let Morgan _mount_ him. How he was ever going to fit the Alpha's knot inside him. He stiffened considerably when his body decided to answer that question in no uncertain terms, a generous dribble of slick escaping him and trickling down the backs of his thighs. Careful of his trousers, he stripped off his clothes and folded them cautiously and placed them near one of the chairs by the hearth. He stood nude and awkward in the room, looking down at himself, half hard, his bare fingers brushing the light smattering of freckles over his hips.

He looked upward when the door opened again, Morgan holding not one but two bottles of champagne, his clothes and hair ruffled a bit.

“I apologize for taking so damnably long,” he grinned, “They insisted on congrat—oh.” He set down the bottles and the flutes on the bedside table, clearing his throat with his golden gaze settled on his naked Omega. “I rather like you this way, Hollow.”

Hollow looked down at himself and then back up again, feeling himself stiffen fully. With the scent of his Alpha, that strong spice filling the room, his body released another rush of fluid from his backside, the slippery trails coursing and tickling their way down his thighs, calves and ankles until they soaked into the carpet. “I...I didn't mean to be presumptuous...” he explained.

“ _Presumptuous_ , he says,” Morgan laughed while he untied his cravat and pulled it from his throat, letting it flutter to the floor. He closed the space between them while he was removing his waistcoat and shirt. “My little wood nymph. I should adore coming into my room to see you in nothing but daisies for the rest of my life. You need never apologize for being naked before me.”

“I shall make note of it,” Hollow smiled, bringing his hand up to tentatively touch Morgan's bare chest, running his fingers down over his cool skin, Hollow's hand warm with his fever. He leaned forward and breathed in that fiery Alpha fragrance that made his belly and erection taut. A wave of coursing need pulsed through his small body and suddenly he did not feel presumptuous at all. He did not feel anything past a desperate need for Alpha. His Alpha. He wanted to speak but when he opened his mouth, all he could manage was a strangled groan. Shaking, his fevered mind was flipping through thoughts at a breakneck pace, screaming at him to _do something._

_Mate. Suck. Bend. Take. Kiss._ _**Breed.** _

He felt his stomach clenching hard when he gulped and took a step back from Morgan and he moved toward the bed. His knees were wobbling so badly he thought he might not have been able to climb up but he did, his hands slapping down on the pliant pillows, pulling them to him while he propped himself on his hands and knees, Miss Calloway's voice ringing in his head.

_He will know that you are ready for him._

He was ready. He was so desperately ready. Hollow frowned when he heard a strange sound, low and thundering through the room. Turning his head, he found Morgan standing where he had been, laughing with his hands on his hips. There was a strange blankness that filled the Omega's head when he watched as his Alpha simply stood still and tilted his head, his laughter still rumbling out of his chest.

If he could have spoken, he should have screamed.

“What did I tell you before I left, little Omega?” Morgan asked in that husky low tone.

Hollow's brain was too addled to make sense of any of it so he merely squeaked when Morgan approached and took a strong grip on his hips, twisting him and pulling him until he was on his feet again at the edge of the bed, leaning against the mattress for support while his Alpha loomed over him.

“I told you I was going to take you into my mouth. And, if I remember correctly,” he grinned, “You once told me that you'd like to see me at your feet.” Without another word, he knelt down and kissed the hollow of the Omega's hip, flicking his tongue over the thin skin there before he sheathed the whole of Hollow's member in the wet heat of his mouth.

Hollow yelped, his hands burying themselves into Morgan's hair while he groaned, his body doubling over as he tensed and shuddered through an almost immediate orgasm, a rush of slick spurting from his body, the stream of it making an odd wet sound as it hit the carpet. He was panting when Morgan released him but did not get up, hooking his hands in the backs of Hollow's knees, pushing him upward so that his bottom was resting on the mattress, just on the edge so that the Alpha could sink his face between the Omega's buttocks, his lips and tongue kissing and lapping over the sensitive swollen hole. He groaned again, his body arching against the silk sheets, the sensations almost too much.

“ _Alpha,_ ” he murmured, a pleading sound that escaped his lips and floated upward to the ceiling above them while his fists gripped into the sheets around him.

Morgan backed off, his lips and chin shining from slick and saliva, his eyes filled with a deep and instinctual hunger. Even as his broad shoulders trembled with need, he was slow, rising up and drawing his forearms over Hollow's thighs until his belly was pressed against the Omega's still-hard length and his face was buried deep against Hollow's neck, the moisture from the both of them cool against Hollow's overheated flesh. He felt his knees come up and cradle the Duke, the coolness of Morgan's body against his inner thighs a comfort he hadn't known could exist.

His Alpha breathed him in huge gasps before he growled against Hollow's throat. “I cannot wait any longer, sweeting. I need you.” When Hollow moved to get up, intent on resuming his former position, Morgan held his hips down. “Not like that. I want to see your face when I take you.”

Again, Hollow underwent that bizarre blankness as Morgan stood up, shedding his trousers and revealing his engorged erection. Hollow's whole body stiffened while he gaped at the size of it, his mind flipping between two intrusive thoughts that seemed almost to overlap.

_How is that going to fit? I want it. But how will it fit? I want it so badly. I want it to fit._

The Duke chuckled, his gentle hands and strong grip picking Hollow up and sliding him to the center of the bed, his head resting on the pillows he'd pulled on earlier and his knees still sticking up into the air. Morgan loomed over him, his big hands on either side of Hollow's slim shoulders when he dipped down to place several very soft kisses over his lips. The Omega could taste himself and the knowledge of that seemed to at least partially erase his nervousness, the fever doing much of the rest as the Alpha pressed their sensitive flesh together.

“Ah. Ahn. Muh-Morgan.” He chanced a glance down the planes of his own body, watching his Alpha's thick cock slide teasingly up and down over his own smaller erection, Morgan's hips undulating in a heavily controlled pace that Hollow knew took the man great effort to sustain. “Morgan I...”

The Alpha's voice was labored with his restraint. “I'm going to be disciplined with you, my love. I promise you. If I hurt you at all, you must tell me immediately.”

Hollow nodded even as he felt Morgan's finger pressing against his slick opening. He took a deep breath and reached upward to tug his lover down for a kiss, their lips brushing as he felt the intrusion of the first appendage. He moaned, his body aching for more as Morgan rocked his wrist back and forth, slick welling and dribbling out over his hand. Over the next few minutes, he slid two more fingers into Hollow's body, getting his entrance used to the width it would have to take while they shared sweet sugared kisses that made Hollow's blood boil. He was just starting to rather enjoy the feeling of Morgan's long fingers when they were suddenly gone and he whimpered into the Duke's mouth, his body aching for intimate touch.

“Take me, Hollow,” Morgan murmured against his lips.

There was a simultaneously soft and hard presence at his entrance, pushing relentlessly until the slick and the pressure allowed it to ease past Hollow's barrier. He shivered and let go a deep moan while his body greedily devoured inch after inch of Morgan's thick member. His Alpha was shivering, his body trembling in want and need and his expression pinched with the tremendous restraint he exerted just to keep from plowing Hollow down into the bed. His hips eased back and then forth again, the movement aided by copious amounts of fluid that Hollow still leaked from around Morgan's girth. He gasped and panted, his body craving the feeling of being _filled_ more and more with each tentative push Morgan gave him.

“Muh-mmmm-Morgan,” he gasped, clawing at the Duke's shoulders and back, pulling him down closer until his lover's belly rubbed deliciously against his aching length with every quickening thrust. He could feel the thickness at his rim, pressing harder and harder against him while Morgan intensified his movements, tensing and relaxing his hard and honed muscles while he panted with his passion. “ _Morgan!_ ”

“Hollow, _please_ ,” the Alpha begged and Hollow knew exactly what he was asking for. Morgan wanted to push further. He wanted to truly _mate_.

“Yuh-yes. Please. Uhn, please, _Alpha_.”

His eyes flew open when he felt Morgan's huge hands on his hips, the Alpha's grip steadily drawing Hollow down over his shaft until he was pushing the bulge of his knot flush against Hollow's tight entrance, pulling on his hips hard enough to probably bruise, rocking forward and backward in short movements that worked the tiny Omega open wider. It hurt but not enough for him to cry out. Not enough for him to stop it from happening to him. Right in the front of his mind, he knew he needed this. He wanted to learn what it meant to be an Omega and he wanted to learn it from Morgan.

“Oh God,” Morgan groaned when he'd pushed all the way, buried in his entirety. “That's all. That's it.” He bent forward, panting with his hands on either side of Hollow's shoulders again while the Omega squeezed his thighs around the Duke's waist, his mouth open and his body taut around the thick knot that was pressing against the most delicate of his inner pleasures. He wasn't sure what he was going to do when Morgan eventually moved. He would probably lose himself entirely. Morgan, for his part, was taking long breaths through his nose to steady himself. When he opened his eyes and those dark pools settled on Hollow, he spoke in a trembling voice. “I've never seen such beauty.” His thumb grazed Hollow's cheek. “I look upon heaven when I look at you.”

Hollow's laugh felt raw. “Stop waxing poetic and make me come.”

Morgan whispered humorously. “I accept your challenge, young Duke of Asterly.”

He'd nearly forgotten that he'd gained a courtesy title and he smiled wide before Morgan began shallow thrusts that rocked him to his very bones. His orgasm blinded him, the world turning entirely white as he screamed out his release, gripping his Alpha hard against his body while he felt Morgan lift him off the bed and sink his teeth deep into the side of his neck. The combination of pain and unimaginable pleasure was infused in his very blood and he felt suddenly sated and complete if not a bit uncomfortably wet.

He lay back on the silk sheets and let his arms flop out to his sides while Morgan was still curled over him, his body still twitching in the aftermath of his expulsion. With a lazy hand, he ran his fingers through his Alpha's sweaty dark hair, pushing it away from his face and gently tugging until he could pull the man into a series of short open-mouthed kisses that tingled over his flesh and tightened his muscles around the swelled knot still inside him.

“Mmm,” Morgan groaned. “You need something to drink, my love, before you start me into another rut.”

“Champagne,” Hollow breathed. “I want to celebrate.”

“Ah, then it is a good thing I had Bickett uncork one of them before I came upstairs,” Morgan grinned. “I am a little stuck right now, after all.” He maneuvered to reach the bedside table and poured two bubbling glasses, handing one to Hollow and helping him sit up in his lap, the movement causing him again to groan. He lifted his glass. “To us?”

“No,” Hollow smirked. “It took me twenty-three years to become what I am. Twenty-three years to find what I didn't know I was looking for.” His voice lowered to a murmur. “Twenty-three roses to see you for who you really were.”

Morgan leaned forward and kissed him while Hollow took the crown of daisies off his head and placed it on his Alpha's, nibbling his bottom lip before he met that golden gaze. Morgan murmured against his mouth.

“Well enough. A toast to twenty-three, then.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you find any terrible errors, pardon. It's 1:40am and I just finished this.
> 
> The uh...the trading of the flower crown has to be my favorite part. But that's just me.
> 
> Like it, hate it, whatever, leave a comment. I'm glad you all travelled with me on this strange and lovely journey. Anyone who wants to read the next one (Lady Netherfield) is welcome to join me. After that one, I'm probably doing Edwin Penberth so we're gonna mix it up a bit with primary and secondary genders a bit. It'll be fun. I swear.
> 
> Edit: 9/08/2017 - My Omegaverse Fic Tumblr, [J.D. Writes](https://jdwrites.tumblr.com/), will be my primary Tumblr for headcanons and Omegaverse chats. Feel free to stop in and suggest headcanons or chat about Omegaverse.


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